


growing pains

by MalevolentReverie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Ben Is A Huge Creep, Creepy Fluff, Depression, Drunk sexual activity, Dry Humping, Dubious Consent, Emotional Manipulation, Eventual Smut, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/M, Gaslighting, Grooming, Heavy Angst, Masturbation, Mind Games, Power Imbalance, Rape/Non-con Elements, Slow Burn, Stream of Consciousness, Teacher-Student Relationship, This Will Make You Squirm, Underage Drinking, Underage Drug Use, Underage Kissing, Underage Sex, Unhealthy Relationships, Unreliable Narrator, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Wrote this instead of therapy, tokophobia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-07
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-07-27 09:26:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 21,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16216184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalevolentReverie/pseuds/MalevolentReverie
Summary: Rey becomes tangled in a twisted web with her high school teacher, Ben Solo.





	1. please breathe

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Трудности роста](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17696261) by [Scofie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scofie/pseuds/Scofie)



I’m so fucking lonely.

No one pays me much attention. I drift around my small high school, bereft, and go home to watch TV and take a nap. Spring breeze drifts in the window; I snuggle under an old pink blanket in my bedroom. I’ll get up and watch television later—maybe. Maybe I’ll just sleep.

Some days I wander along the tow path, following the Erie Canal, wishing for something to happen. It’s fucked up, but… I don’t think I can feel anything anymore. I walk along the swaying pines and birches while snapping turtles eye me from the murky water. I want to feel again. I don’t belong here.

At home I have little to do. I curl up in my pink sheets and watch Netflix while Uncle Unkar bickers with the cable company. Sad. I’m so sad.

—————

 “Rey! Party on the towpath!”

One of my few friends, Rose, is ecstatic at the thought of going to a party. She beams and tells me how Poe and Finn will be there, but I can’t bring myself to care. I’m just… not interested. We’re finishing up tenth grade.

I shrug. “I think I’ll go home and watch _Blue Bloods._ But text me if you need me.”

She’s a little disappointed but she gets it. We wander off to our classes, two disparate pieces looking for somewhere to belong.

We’re friends, but some days, she feels like a perfect stranger. Everyone does.

So I go home, and take a shower, and go to bed. I find a pillow to rub up on until I have an orgasm, which I didn’t know about until last year. Whatever. Feels good.

—————

Rose slouches into the seat next to me on Monday. I laugh and listen to her tell me about making out with Finn and texting him all weekend. I’m not an asshole. I’m happy she’s happy. She deserves it.

She sighs. “Sleepover this weekend?”

 “Yeah, sounds great.” I’d love to. Rose is the best for venting.

Our new teacher walks in, and I shiver when I meet his dark eyes. Shit. Fuck.

He doesn’t smile. His face is long and pale, big nose, soft pink lips. He’s wearing a gray sweater and khakis and seems uncomfortable. I stare. My heart skips a beat. _Wow._ He’s attractive in a weird way only I understand.

I watch his thick arm scribble ‘ _Mr. Solo_ ’ on the chalkboard. He doesn’t talk much.

 “Homework?” he snaps.

His voice is deep and I love it. Rose gathers our papers—this is home economics, like cooking and shit—and she gives them to me. I rise and tiptoe to our gigantic new teacher and he swipes the papers from my hand. He smells good, like Hollister.

Mr. Solo studies me. “Thank you, Miss Niima.”

 “…Uh huh.”

My mind flutters with fantasies of us kissing and hanging out. He’s way old. Thirty.

I slink back to my seat and scribble down his notes about making meatloaf. Mister Solo… he’s beautiful, for an old guy.


	2. fuck

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> expect brief chapters

Days pass. I pass. I’m fading out, slipping into the tedium of high school. No one pays me much attention—except Ben.

Sorry, Mr. Solo. He pays attention.

Rose chats with me during class. I hardly pay attention. I watch his mouth and his eyes and struggle to read the textbook. He can cook and clean and change a diaper. I wish I could do those things. Ugh. I want to impress him.

Maybe I’m sick. I peer over my shoulder to see how he smiles at the other students, even though I’m fifteen and of no interest. I can’t even drive. He’s tall and gorgeous; broad shoulders, thick black hair, bright brown eyes. He’s got to have a girlfriend.

 “How’s it going, Rey?”

I stiffen. Mr. Solo looms behind me, warm and tall. My heart patters.

 “Good,” I mumble.

He laughs. “Hope you don’t have a baby on the way, or you’ll never change a diaper. Let me help.”

I let him. He sits on the stool beside me and brushes his huge hands over mine. No one looks. We sit so close, close enough to kiss, and I stare as he strips the baby doll.

 “Restart,” he suggests. “There’s always a fresh diaper. The baby needs to be comfortable.”

I’m tempted to say that I don’t care. I watch Mr. Solo peel off the diaper and chuck it in the garbage. He picks up a fresh one and places it under the doll’s butt. My mind spins off to fantasies of _us_ having a baby together—him coming home and kissing my forehead.

We work together. He watches me strap a fresh diaper on the fake baby. A big hand pats my back and I shiver with delight. Please.

Mr. Solo murmurs. “Good. Very good.”

Fuck. That’s hot.

I don’t want to be needy or weird. I smile and practice diapering the doll.

—————

Home has nothing to offer. I crawl in bed and stare out my window at the sloping green lawn. I want to see Ben again. He seems like he might like me.

Probably not. I’m just pathetic.

—————

 “Mister Solo has a fiancée.”

My heart staggers. I pretend to laugh and not care when Rose tells me. He’s like thirty. Of course he has a fiancée.

I’m not… I don’t care. I have other stuff to do. I eat my lunch and keep pretending I don’t care.

She comes to visit him before class in the hallway. Jealousy pangs my chest as he leans down to kiss her forehead, long fingers in her blonde hair. She has a huge diamond engagement ring. She’s stunning.

I’m not stunning.

He smiles when she walks away and he slips into our classroom. I just feel sick. He’s so gorgeous. I know he’s beyond me, but… I can hope. Dream.

 “Homework,” he barks.

We pass everything to the front of the class. Mr. Solo takes the papers from my wobbly hands. He brushes his fingertips on my knuckles, but I figure it’s a mistake. I avoid his gaze.

It’s a movie day. I shiver in the cold classroom until I feel something warm across my shoulders. I look up and see my teacher hovering a foot behind me with a smile on his face. Fuck. I have to stay rational.

Mr. Solo pats between my shoulder blades.

 “Stay warm, Miss Niima.”


	3. whirligig

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all are too kind

Winter comes, like it always does. One night it’s fiftysomething degrees, then it’s cold _as fuck_ and snow’s drifting from the gray sky in big wet lumps. The seasons change suddenly here.

But I like the calm quiet when snow blankets the streets and the trees. Dead silence. It’s eerie and beautiful. You can’t hear anything, just the crunch of ice and slush under your feet and the snow plows off in the distance. I’ll stand in the park alone sometimes—just listen with my eyes closed under the orange glow of a street lamp.

I want tenth grade to be over already. I want high school to be over. I’m moving to California, I think; maybe I’ll live on the beach. Ben might be there or something.

Nah. He looks like a Colorado guy. Skiing and shit. Bet he knows how to snowboard. Bet his fiancée likes cross country skiing, because it’s the type of sport beautiful women like. Bet she plays volleyball. Bet she looks good in short shorts, because she doesn’t have chicken legs.

…There I go again.

—————

I’m going to be the _worst_ housewife.

Can’t sew, can’t change a goddamn diaper, can’t cook. I struggle with my stitch while Finn pokes Rose with his needle until she snaps at him. Poe chases Kaydel Connix around with a big ass crochet hook, flirting in the way teenage boys do. I huff. Fuck. Fucking…

It’s fricken chaos in the classroom and Mr. Solo doesn’t give a flying fuck. He’s behind his desk texting on his iPhone, long legs propped up, smiling at something on the screen. I bet it’s his beautiful fiancée telling him she’s gonna suck his dick when he gets home.

Nausea bubbles in me. Jesus I’m weird.

His dark eyes flicker up and catch me staring. Heat floods straight to my ears and _holy shit Rey stop looking oh my god look at literally anything else—_ Ben raises his eyebrows and a small smile just touches the corners of his lips.

 “Sit the fuck down, Dameron,” he barks. Eek. He’s a thundercloud now, volatile.

Poe sits. Everyone giggles. It’s always weird hearing a teacher swear.

The chatter comes back to the classroom and Rose goes off to flirt with Finn at one of the big tables. I’m sitting alone, about ready to drive my fricken needle in my eyeball. Why is this homemaker shit so hard? Gimme a math problem or a book to read and I’m good.

A chair scrapes on the floor and I smell him before I see his pale forearms on the table. He smells so good again, like Abercrombie in the mall. I might take an extra deep breath. I might shiver, maybe enjoying his body heat next to mine. Twin flames.

Mr. Solo holds out a palm. “May I?”

He’s got veins and twisted muscles in his forearms and his fingers are calloused and rough. I imagine them running down my body.

Panicked, I drop the cloth I’m stitching. “Oh—sure—sorry—”

 “For what?” he laughs. His voice is so deep I can feel it rumble in my bones. “This class is fucking stupid.”

I peer up at him. I’m hunched, hiding in my baggy black hoodie. He’s sitting tall and confident, blue sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to the elbows, black hair in a tangle near his shoulders. He’s… kind of smirking at me.

I manage a smile. “Um… do I fail if I agree?”

 “Ah, you didn’t fall for my trap.” Ben picks up my cloth, big fingers clumsy on the needle. “Very shrewd, Miss Niima.” His gaze shifts to the cloth and he shrugs. “I have a degree in engineering, just haven’t bothered with taking the license. I’m lazy.”

Holy hell he’s lazy. I’m lazy. Two peas in a pod.

I’m not used to small talk. My mouth goes dry and I tug my sleeves over my hands, squirming in my seat. No one pays us any attention.

 “Civil?” I ask.

 “Nuclear. What, you think I’m lazy _and_ a dumbass?”

Fuck, he’s a fucking nuclear engineer. Just when I thought he couldn’t get any more impressive. I want to be a chemical engineer.

I shrug, shy. “My grandfather was a civil engineer. He went to RPI and was definitely not a dumb… ass.”

 “Sorry—every dickhole frat bro I went to college with was a civil or electrical engineering major.” Mr. Solo pulls a stitch through. A muscle twitches in his jaw. “Christ I hate sewing.”

 “But you like tenure, right?”

He laughs again, genuinely. My heart flutters.

 “Exactly. And I like scaring the shit out of Poe Dameron.”

Then Ben flips the switch to snappy teacher and barks at Poe, who’s chasing Kaydel with a headless baby doll. His jaw tightens and his broad shoulders tense and he’s never been hotter. I bet he’s into kinky shit. I bet his blonde fiancée loves it.

Rose catches my eye. She makes a kissy face and giggles with Finn. I flip her off.

 “You’re shivering.”

I startle. Oops. “Sorry.”

Mr. Solo gets up and panic floods me. He snaps at Bazine to get off his desk, where she’s parked her pretty cheerleader butt, and she pouts. I watch him ignore her batting her eyelashes as he grabs his black zip-up jacket from his chair.

He comes back thank fuck—and drapes his jacket over my shoulders. My heart stops. He gently loosens my hair from the collar and my scalp tingles. He presses his palm between my shoulder blades as he sits down next to me again.

It smells like him. Also, smells like cigarettes. It swims on me and I melt into it.

 “You shouldn’t apologize so much,” he says, like this isn’t the greatest moment of my life. He picks up the cloth.

Bazine glares daggers at me. I avoid her eyes.

 “Sorry,” I mumble.

Mr. Solo laughs and shakes his beautiful head.

I see his phone screen light up with a long message—arguing with his fiancée. Then what was he smiling at earlier?

He studies the cloth. “Is Poe chasing Connix again?”

 “Yup.” I hesitate. “He’s always been that way.”

 “Yeah, I know his type.” Mr. Solo raises his voice but doesn’t look up. “Dameron, go to the principal’s office. Now.”

Poe doesn’t care. He grins at Finn and flips my hair on his way past. It’s just the teasing shit he’s done since kindergarten.

Mr. Solo jerks upright, suddenly stormy.

 “Better yet—” He stands, tall and imposing, menacing. “I’ll come and make sure you spend your Friday afternoon in detention, if you’re going to act like a fucking child.”

 “It was a joke,” Poe retorts, pissy for the first time… ever.

But he grumbles along with Mr. Solo looming over him and they leave together. I’m alone with my cloth and the warm jacket. Happy.


	4. baby daddy

 “All I’m saying is the guy is a douchebag.”

We’re at lunch and Poe’s still mad about having detention Friday afternoon with Mr. Solo. I chew my salad and watch Rose chide him for being rude. She has a point. He _did_ get multiple warnings and kept being an ass.

Poe snorts. “Whatever. He was too busy flirting with _Rey._ ”

I choke. Finn smirks as he puts an arm around Rose’s shoulders.

 “You’re so gross!” she snaps to Poe.

They argue and I try to hide my blush. Mr. Solo wasn’t flirting with me; he was just being nice. Geez, why does Poe have to make everything so fucking weird? I’m sick of him being such a jerk.

We walk to class together and my heart starts pounding. It’s literally been two days since I last saw our teacher and I’m fricken gaga over the guy. Who is engaged. And apparently thirty-two, according to Rose. She looked him up on Facebook. I’m not creepy enough for that.

My thoughts drift back to him draping his jacket over my shoulders because I shivered because he makes me so fucking nervous. It smelled so nice. So warm. I’ve dated before and worn a guy’s jacket but… ugh. This is different.

I’m not used to attention—Uncle Unkar is always out and I kind of grew up alone. I’m such a freak. I’m so desperate for attention.

The classroom is open and there’s a pile of baby dolls on the middle table. Poe immediately starts fucking around with one, swinging it by the ankles, and Rose drags Finn over to pick one out that ‘looks like them.’ I hover. Always on the fringe. Always a pariah.

 “I hope your diapering skills have improved.”

I peer up. Mr. Solo stands close beside me, hands in his pockets, scowling at Poe. But his brown eyes soften when he looks down at me and he smiles. My heart skips a beat. He looks nice—black sweater and khakis. Smells nice.

Yikes, Rey.

 “Can’t say I practiced,” I admit. I curl an errant strand of hair behind my ear.

 “Pity. Either you or Dameron will need to learn.”

The room’s filling up and now everyone is pairing off with babies. I blink up at Ben.

 “Uh—Poe? _Poe?_ ” I laugh. “Er… we’re not like dating or anything.”

He raises an eyebrow and glances at Poe. Kaydel is here so he’s taken to making jokes about child support. Poe’s funny, but he’s not my type. I guess. Do I even have a type?

 “Oh.” Mr. Solo smiles down at me. “I guess I misread the room. Good for you.”

_Good for you._ I shrug awkwardly and watch him stalk off to snap at Poe. _Good for you._ What does that fucking mean, _good for you_? I’d never have a baby with Poe. Jesus. He’d kill it.

Mr. Solo gives instructions. The babies are robots and we have to keep them alive for a week. They have sensors that pick up shaking or the wrong position, they cry, and they have to be fed and changed. We have to share care with a partner and no, he doesn’t care if we’re same-sex partners.

The class is uneven, though, and of course I’m left on my own. Embarrassment floods me as I pick up my doll with blue eyes and the kit with a bottle, bracelet, and electronic diapers. Neat. I’m the weirdo again.

Mr. Solo steps up beside me. “ _You_ are in luck, Miss Rey. I’m a wealthy bachelor who just moved to town and I’d like nothing more than to support you and Cletus here.”

I redden. Why am I blushing? What the fuck? He’s fucking kidding around. Get a grip, Rey.

 “…Thanks,” I manage. Painfully. “Um… so…”

Ben picks up the bracelet. It’s metal and sort of heavy. He locks it around my wrist.

 “I’m going to help you,” he says. “It’s hard to do this without a partner.” He wags his finger. “I’ll take Cletus during the day and you take him at night. Deal?”

 “I—Sure?”

 “Good.” He swipes a pen from behind his ear. “Phone number? In case you need me.”

I stutter for a straight minute before fishing my cracked iPhone out of my pocket. Okay. No big deal. It makes sense. Everyone else is swapping numbers. I’ll just message him if I can’t get the thing to shut up or whatever.

My palms sweat. We exchange phone numbers but it doesn’t affect Mr. Solo like it does me. He types mine in and texts someone else while I squirm beside him. Rose catches my eye and smirks. I widen my eyes and shrug. _Help._

Don’t text him. Be cool. He has a fiancée.

Ben puts his phone away. “So, the big thing is that you have to keep the neck supported.”

—————

Somehow, I don’t text him. Sure I stare at my phone a lot and obsess over it, but I don’t.

The dumb baby cries all the time. Poe texts me, Rose, and Finn about how he already dropped his a bunch of times and that it just screams louder when you beat it up. I’m super careful. I pat him on the back and make sure he’s lying straight when he calms down.

It’s not that hard. Just stay calm and figure out the problem: babies only want three things.

My phone vibrates while I’m watching TV with the fake bottle in the fake baby’s mouth. The bracelet records everything the baby tells it about how I’m doing. I think about handing it off to Ben during the morning and how humongous his hands are under it’s head.

I check my phone.

> _Hey Miss Rey. How’s Cletus?_

Holy shit. Holy shit. He’s texting me.

Panicked, I chuck my phone across the room, then scramble after it. I text him back with one hand: _he’s alive lol_

Then nothing for the rest of the night.

I check my phone over and over, worried I said something weird. Maybe I shouldn’t have responded. Maybe he forgot.

I text him again. _poe keeps dropping his_

And Mr. Solo still doesn’t respond. Now I feel especially stupid and pathetic.

I’m always doing stupid shit like this. Always putting myself out there and looking like a fucking moron.

I roll over in bed and stare out my window at the snow drifting silently past, then cry myself to sleep.

He answers me at two in the morning.

> _Don’t use my real name in your contacts list, Miss Rey. See you and my stepson soon._


	5. dead

Mr. Solo collects our dolls Friday afternoon to check the results. He’s already done mine—a perfect A, which helps my pitiful grade. Rose nudges me when her elbow and waggles her eyebrows until I elbow her back.

I haven’t told her about Ben texting me. Seems like a bad idea. She doesn’t know him like I do. She’ll tell me to say something to the principal.

We’re not doing anything wrong. He literally texted me twice—and he’s _engaged._ We’re just talking. He has time for me. Rose is always busy with Finn now and Poe’s a jackass. So what if I want to talk to someone? Jesus Christ. Can’t I be fucking happy for once?

 “Killed yours, Dameron. Well done.”

I laugh along with everyone and Poe grins. He gets a zero and doesn’t care as usual. Kaydel isn’t happy, though. She rolls her eyes and turns to whisper to Bazine. Both of them look at me and giggle.

Bazine raises her hand. “Um, Ben?”

He doesn’t look up. “That’s Mister Solo to you, Miss Nedal.”

 “Right, sure.” Her blue eyes flicker to me. “Why does Rey get an A when _you_ helped her?”

I shrink in my seat, tugging up the corners of my hoodie. Oh god.

Mr. Solo glances up. “Why do you think another student’s grade is any of _your_ business?”

 “I guess it isn’t. She’s gonna need all that practice for being a single mom in real life.”

Rose whips around at the same time Finn does. They get into an argument with Bazine and Kaydel, and Poe tries not to giggle out loud. I sink lower and lower in my chair until I can hide my face in my hoodie collar.

Mr. Solo barks at Bazine to get out, but I’m so humiliated that I don’t think I can stand another minute there. I tap my worn sneaker on the linoleum floor then jerk to my feet, knocking over my chair, and race out of the room.

I don’t want to go far, but I just keep running. And running. And running.

It’s freezing outside. My lungs burn, swelling hard and fast to keep me running across the snowy soccer field out back, and angry tears well up in my eyes. I fucking hate high school. I’m never going back. I’ll die before I walk back in that fucking high school.

It’s a long way home. I ignore my phone along the way, shivering in the cold, wallowing in my misery. No one cares about me. Sure I’ve gotten texts from Finn and Rose asking if I’m safe, but I know they don’t care. They’re… they’re faking.

I’m so paranoid. I pace my small bedroom, wringing my hands. I’m going to be in so much trouble tomorrow. I ran out of school. Oh my god… what am I going to do? No one will help. No one will help. No one—

My phone vibrates. I chew my lower lip and check the screen.

> _Hey missy. Told the school your uncle picked you up. You’re covered. Feeling okay?_

Mr. Solo. Oh my god.

I sit on my bed and chew my nails. He’s asking if I’m okay. He covered for me to leave school.

My ears ring. Maybe Ben cares about me. I mean, I’m not like, expecting him to. I’m not a creep. I’m not expecting attention. He has a fiancée and she’s stunning. Holly is her name. She’s from Scotland. Cool.

>   _i'm okay,_ I text back. _thanks for asking._


	6. shiver

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> moarrrr

Rose is worried about me. She tells me in school that I seem distracted and sad and I wave her off. I’m fine. Really. After I went home and cried it out, I’m fine. Bazine is a fucking bitch.

Mr. Solo keeps her in the back of the class, far away from me. He checks up on me when I first come in the next morning and hovers while I work on a sewing project with Finn and Rose. Poe watches from afar, stuck at a table with Kaydel and Bazine. He waves.

We’re all mad at him for sticking by Kaydel. None of us respond and we keep sewing.

I peer at Mr. Solo sometimes. He’s tired today—Finn thinks he’s hungover. Black hair is up across the top, but drapes over his ears. He’s wearing a gray dress shirt and black pants and the sleeves are rolled up to his elbows. I watch the muscles twitch in his forearms while he texts with a scowl on his face.

It’s hard not to think about him. I’ve looked at the text from last night a hundred times. I obsess during class until the bell rings.

 “Miss Niima—a word?”

Eep. My heart skips a beat and I turn and see Mr. Solo with his eyebrows raised. He’s sitting behind his desk with his phone facedown, long fingers knitted.

Rose and Finn promise to wait for me outside. I wring my hands near my stomach and stand in front of my teacher’s desk.

He tilts his head. “Are you pregnant?”

 _What?!_ My mouth goes dry and I gawk at Ben, horrified. He looks genuinely concerned but it switches to a smile and a laugh. Me?! Pregnant?! I’ve gotten to like second base!

 “Guess that answers my question.” He shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Seemed an odd insult for Miss Netal to make. I wanted to make sure—since you’re so young. Fifteen, right?”

 “…Yeah.”

 “Fifteen,” he echoes. Mr. Solo gazes past me, stroking his jaw. “When’s your birthday?”

 “Uh… August.”

 “Ah. You’ll be seventeen when you graduate.”

I’m not sure why he’s bouncing this information off me. I shrug and nod. He nods back.

Rose texts me in that moment to tell me she had to leave early with Finn. There goes my ride. I must be glaring at my phone because Mr. Solo asks what’s wrong. The sweater he let me wear is on the back of his chair.

 “Have to walk home,” I mutter.

 “…It’s snowing.”

I avoid his eyes. “I know. So, see you tomorrow.”

He stands. “Yeah, right. I’ll drive you.”

Mr. Solo collects his things in a messenger bag and ignores me stammering that he doesn’t have to. His phone vibrates and he rolls his eyes at whoever it’s from. I feel like I might faint. I can’t be in his car. Oh my god.

He walks fast—long legs, long strides. I skitter behind him like a mouse, arms folded over my textbooks to my chest, cheeks hot. He texts someone with one hand and swings his keys around the index finger of the other. Doesn’t look at me. I’m about to have a fucking coronary. No big goddamn deal.

The snow comes down in big wet lumps outside. I shiver in my thin windbreaker and sneak a glance up at my teacher. Still texting. Scowling.

His phone rings and he mutters a curse. We stop beside a black Jeep, one of the ones for off-roading, and he takes the call. It’s a nice car for a guy who teaches home ec in high school.

 “ _What_ Holly?!” he snaps.

Fiancée. I play with my ring, spinning it around my finger. Do do do…

Ben opens the passenger door and gestures for me to get in. He takes my backpack and sets it in the back seat, scowling while his fiancée chatters away on the other line.

 “I’m stopping at the store—I’ll be home in an hour.” He hangs up as he gets in the driver’s seat and drops the phone in a cup holder. “Do _you_ pester your boyfriend all the time?”

I’m kind of floored he didn’t mention dropping me off. That seems important?

But I shake my head. “I don’t really date.” Why are you asking that, anyway?

 “No?” Mr. Solo raises his eyebrows as he puts on his seatbelt. “Huh. Why not?”

 “This high school has like fifty guys my age and they’re all annoying.”

Yikes. That’s a little bitter. But Ben laughs and turns the key in the ignition. I manage a small smile. Funny, maybe. Or he’s just being nice because he feels bad for me.

He shifts into reverse. “Fair enough. I was a teenage boy once upon a time and I know how annoying I was. We don’t get much better until we’re thirty or so.”

 “You’re thirty-two,” I offer for some fucking reason.

 “I am.” Mr. Solo doesn’t look at me, but he shows a hint of a smile.

Okay…

I look around the car. It’s pretty clean. Marlboro’s in the other cup holder and a lighter. Not much else, really. A water bottle in the door… right next to a telltale bag of green leaves.

Jeez—weed?! I quickly look away and pretend I didn’t see it. Why does he have it out in the open?! Sometimes I drink with my friends on the towpath but drugs are a different story.

He nods. “You can put your address in the GPS.”

I do. I lean forward, fingers quivering, and type it in. I live about ten minutes from the school.

Mr. Solo notices me trembling for the millionth time. He cranks the heat and reaches back blindly to hand me the sweater from the other day. I take it unsurely, pulse pounding.

 “Keep it,” he says. “You need it more.”

 “Oh—um… thanks.” I rub the fabric between my fingers, secretly enjoying the scent. “Are you sure?”

 “I’m sure.”

He smiles and I smile back, giddy. I’m literally going to sleep with it. Maybe bury my face in it when I masturbate. Is that weird? _Yup._

We talk about music. Turns out we like the same stuff: Radiohead, The Smiths, Nirvana; he even likes Ariana Grande. I laugh and listen to him tell me about getting too drunk at a Pink Floyd concert (though I’m guessing he was actually too high) and we pull up to my ramshackle house. I don’t want to go.

Mr. Solo puts a hand on the back of my headrest, eyeing the house through my window.

 “You live here?” he asks.

I unbuckle my belt. “Unfortunately. Thanks for the ride—and the sweater.”

 “No problem.” He dips his head and squints at my house. “Anyone home?”

 “My uncle is usually out.”

 “Oh. Well, be safe.”

Something tugs the back of my head. I frown at first, then realize with a flush of confusion and excitement that Mr. Solo is _playing with my hair._ He’s slipped some through the hole in the headrest. He’s twirling it. Twirling my hair. Touching me.

But he’s not even looking in my eyes. I sit there in silence, wishing for him to speak, living for the small taste of attention. He shuffles some gum near his dashboard in a tray and I see a small black flip phone.

 “What’s my name?” he asks, still not looking at me. He flips the phone open.

 “W-What?”

 “My name. In your phone.”

I can’t breathe. I shudder.

 “Ben,” I say. Stupid. I realize how stupid it is.

He smiles, studying his phone, still not glancing my way. I feel small. His hands are huge—he’s huge. My fingers curl on the sweater.

 “You’re Lola in mine.” Ben finally raises his eyes to mine, still toying with my hair. “Ever read that book? _Lolita_?”

 “I read a lot of the Brontë sisters… um…”

His smile widens, almost condescending. “Of course you do. Jane Austen?” I nod, embarrassed for some reason, and he licks his upper lip. His legs are spread. He takes up a lot of space. “You should read _Lolita_ this weekend. Let me know what you think.”

I feel sick with excitement. “Do… do I text you?”

Mr. Solo shrugs. A fingertip brushes the nape of my neck so briefly that I think I imagined it.

 “Sure. Change my name, too. Make it Kylo.”

He wants to talk to me. He wants to talk to _me._

My mouth runs dry. I nod spastically and take out my phone to change the name right then and there. My fingers shake.

 “Trembling again, Miss Rey?” he murmurs.

 “Sorry—Sorry.” I’m gonna faint. Swear to god. Miss Rey. Not Miss Niima.

 “You don’t have to apologize to me.” His arm withdraws. “Nervous, huh?”

 “I—I just—i-it’s cold—”

Ben picks something off my shoulder. The car spins. I feel the warmth of his hand.

 “Yeah, you’re right. Cold winter we’re having.”

I spill out of his Jeep. He texts me when I get to the door.

> _Wear your new sweater while you read this weekend. Wouldn’t want you catching a cold—I’ll miss you in class. :)_


	7. firewater

Since it’s the twenty-first century, I don’t need to go to the library to check out _Lolita._ I bring it up on my phone and start reading Saturday afternoon, eager to have something else in common with Mr. Solo. He’s trying to involve me in something he likes. It’s amazing.

I’m feeling brave. I screenshot the cover and text it to him.

> **Me:** _wish me luck_

It’s a snowy, cold afternoon, and I spend it curled up in bed with the sweater. I curl around it like the pathetic mess I am, nuzzling the collar, inhaling the scent of his cologne and cigarette smoke. It’s super soft. The lining has to be fleece or something.

I tear through half the book by nightfall. Unkar doesn’t offer me dinner.

Mr. Solo texts me around nine.

> **Kylo:** _How is it?_

It’s like getting high every time he messages me. This nervous little thrill runs through my gut. I’m doing something bad.

I’m not sure what to say. It’s kind of a heavy book. Pedophiles and stuff. The writing is old-timey and weird and reading about some guy bonking his stepdaughter gives me the heebie jeebies. I chew my lower lip.

> **Me:** _kind of dark lol have to take a break and eat_

I wonder if he’s in bed with his pretty fiancée—Holly. Maybe she’s already asleep. Maybe they got in a fight and broke up. Maybe he’s in love with me. Or I’m just super pathetic.

> **Kylo:** _Whatcha eatin’?_
> 
> **Me:** _not sure… have to see what’s lying around_
> 
> **Kylo:** _How about I come get you and we eat tacos and talk about the book?_

Okay. Okay. Don’t panic. Don’t freak out.

I panic and freak out. I’m so nervous that I go puke. But I do manage to text him back while I brush my teeth, nauseous and chilled.

> **Me:** _are you sure?_

He’s going to pick me up—in his Jeep. And we’ll eat tacos and talk about this weird pedophile book. I laugh hysterically as I rinse my mouth out. I’m not an idiot, so why am I doing this?

I’m Googling ‘child grooming’ when he replies.

> **Kylo:** _I would never joke about tacos. I’ll be there in ten. _

Unkar is long asleep. I scurry to my closet, throwing aside old raggedy clothes, and settle on black leggings with the sweater Mr. Solo gave me. He texts me that he’s outside as I step into my old black snow boots.

I’m dizzy. I want to tell Rose.

But I walk out into the icy night without telling a soul. The Jeep is at the end of my gravel driveway, lights off, but they flicker on as I get closer. Snow crunches underfoot. Breath turns to silver smoke, curling from my dry lips. I’m doing this. It’s dark and cold and I’m doing this.

It’s warm in Mr. Solo’s car. Some old Radiohead song plays softly in the background— _High and Dry_ —and I nervously peer up at him.

Jeans and a black sweater. It’s like watching a dog walk on its hind legs, seeing a teacher outside of school. I’m overwhelmed realizing this is a normal man with a fiancée and a job and maybe a house. He’s way beyond me. I can’t even _drive._

But Ben smiles at me, and that tiny flutter of happiness buzzes in my chest. Despite all that, he likes me. He wants to talk to me. That must mean I’m interesting.

 “Nice leggings,” he says offhandedly, pulling away from my driveway.

I redden. “Thanks.”

They show off how skinny my legs are. I tug the hem of the sweater down, trying to disappear inside it.

We drive through slush and orange street lights to the Taco Bell on Main Street. Mr. Solo orders for me, which I don’t argue with, and he parks in a shadowy part of the parking lot.

I twiddle my thumbs. “Thank you. I’ll pay you back.”

He laughs as he hands me a soft taco.

 “Maybe,” he acquiesces. “Are you allergic to anything?”

 “Penicillin, but I _really_ hope that’s not in here.”

 “Whaaat?! It adds to the flavor of the mystery meat!”

We laugh again and eat for a bit. I might’ve barfed not too long ago, but I’m always up for food. The beef is surprisingly warm and tasty and I gobble mine up before Ben is done with his. He offers me another.

 “This is how your Saturday nights are in your thirties,” he jokes. “Boring.”

 “It’s not boring.” I shrug, swallowing before I speak. “I like the quiet, and I’ll never say no to a free taco.”

My teacher whistles.

 “You just gave away your weakness, Miss Rey.”

It’s a little easier talking to him. I roll my eyes and wave him off and he laughs.

Mr. Solo wipes his fingers on a napkin. “Honestly, I needed to get some space. Holly and me are splitting up and it’s been hell.”

A couple emotions run through me: excitement, guilt, then curiosity. I glance at his long, sad face shrouded in shadow and wanted to reach out to comfort him. But I don’t, because touching him is reaching into a whole new place I don’t think I want to be.

 “Uh… sorry to hear that,” I offer. I’m not really. I _feel_ like a door has been opened.

He shrugs. “These things happen. Anyway, I don’t make a habit of telling my students these things, but you’re mature for your age, so…” Ben rubs the back of his head, grimacing. “It’s easy to forget you’re fifteen.”

Mature for my age—I’m _mature_ for my age. I mean, I totally agree. That child grooming stuff is bullshit. I’m not a moron like most teenagers. I’m different, and special, and this funny, charming, hot thirty-two-year-old man agrees with me. I swallow my last bite of taco.

 “Lolita was fourteen,” I say.

 “Lola,” Mr. Solo corrects. He stares at me as he puts his hand behind my headrest. “So you don’t like the book so far?”

 “It’s good—it’s just kind of weird.”

The car feels small; suffocating. It smells like tacos and cologne. I clean my hands with a napkin and gather all the trash in the empty paper bag, avoiding Ben’s gaze.

_Lola._

It clicks. I don’t know why it didn’t before. My name in his phone is _Lola._

I’m such a bundle of fucking nerves I think I might jump out of my skin. He’s throwing a lot at me but not saying anything explicitly. Why is he doing this? Is he expecting me to make the first move? Because that won’t happen.

My hair tickles on my nape. He’s doing it again. Playing with my hair. I squirm.

 “Did you change my name in your phone?” Mr. Solo murmurs. I nod. “Can I see?”

I hand him my iPhone without a moment’s hesitation. He unlocks it and casually scrolls through. This time I definitely feel his fingertip graze down the bones on the back of my neck. I shiver, wiping my sweaty hands on my thighs.

The screen lights up his vague smile. “We don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea.”

 “Oh, no!” I blurt. “I know! And—and I haven’t told any of my friends or anything, so…”

His hand drifts away from my neck. I stiffen when his hot, enormous palm closes over my knobby knee. He gives a gentle squeeze. He’s still looking through my phone. I’m not about to ask him to stop.

 “I’m glad we’re on the same page, Miss Rey.” Ben rubs his thumb on the side of my knee. “Skinny little thing, aren’t you? Maybe that’s why you’re always shivering.”

The touch is making my head burn and my chest flutter. I rub my boots together, too nervous to move my legs, and gulp. His hand stays on my knee. It feels like it weighs a thousand pounds.

Mr. Solo finally gives my phone back. He pats my knee before reaching to the ignition and starting his car. I’m speechless. My ears burn.

 “What kind of movies do you like?” he asks.


	8. the abyss

Mr. Solo drops me off back home. We don’t really talk about _Lolita,_ but he gives me a list of movies I should watch.

I go back to my bedroom with a belly full of tacos and lie flat on my bed for a while without moving. I can feel the burn of his palm seared into my skin like a brand. I’m losing it.

But I peel off my leggings and panties, prickling with desire, and spread my thighs under my thin sheets. If I’m losing it, I might as well commit.

The sweater stays on, thick with Mr. Solo’s scent and draping around my bony, gangly edges. I close my eyes and imagine him lying on top of me and wonder what the swell of a dick might feel like. My fingers slip through wet flesh as I bite back moans and stifle breaths.

And it feels okay for a fragile little window of time. Then the post-orgasmic haze fades and I’m left with a slimy feeling in the pit of my stomach that makes me cry myself to sleep.

I should be happy. Mr. Solo _likes_ me.

—————

Then he drops off—he pulls away—and the chasm in me yawns wider.

No more long stares during class. Mr. Solo keeps his distance all the way up until winter break, like nothing we did or said ever happened. I question my own sanity. _Did_ it happen? Am I imagining _Lolita_ and tacos? Hair twirling? Changed names?

Rose and Finn start pulling away from me. I grow more upset and confused. I want my friends, but I’m addicted to the rush I get from my teacher, and I want that more. He makes me feel special; like I belong. Why is he stopping? Why is he stopping? What’s wrong with me?

I’m defective. No one wants to be near me. I’m in a rut and I’m so sad and lonely. I just want someone to pay attention to me. I want to be kissed on the forehead the way Finn kisses Rose. I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.

—————

Then, on a Friday night, he texts me.

> **Kylo:** _Hey there Miss Rey._

I’m way watching _Home Alone._ I jump when I see his name and hurriedly wipe off the cheesy puff dust on my pants. It’s him; it’s him!

> **Me:** _hey what’s up?_

A couple minutes pass before he replies. I chew my nails to the quick.

> **Kylo:** _Wow, I’m surprised you replied! You’ve been so busy with that Finn kid—didn’t want to intrude._

Finn?! _Finn?!_

Finn is dating Rose. I quickly text this back to my teacher, laughing, lower lip trembling, then I burst into tears. We’ve been apart for weeks over a stupid misunderstanding. I can’t take it.

> **Kylo:** _Oh, okay. :)_ _You’re just really special, honey. I assume everyone else notices, too. In that case—how about tacos and a movie tonight?_

I’m delirious. The dark cloud dispels and I am an open sky filled with the warm sunshine of his compliments. _Honey. Really special._ He notices me, too. I’m not Miss Niima or Miss Rey—I’m _honey._ Bet he never called Holly _honey._

I cover my mouth and squeal and kick my feet. He likes me. He really likes me.

We arrange for him to pick me up around eight. Unkar is snoozing on the couch and never notices when I leave, anyway. I’m always floating on the fringe. It’s nice for someone to notice—ground me in reality. I’m here. I exist. I’m worthy of attention.

The locus of all that attention pulls up a couple minutes late in his black Jeep. I hurry out to him in my black leggings he likes and his sweater.

Mr. Solo has his hair drawn back in a half ponytail and he’s scrolling through his iPhone. His other hand holds a cigarette, red tip glowing in the chilly December night. He exhales a stream of smoke out the window as I clamber in his car and smiles at me.

 “Sorry,” he sighs. “Old habits die hard.”

 “It’s okay. My uncle smokes.”

We pull away from the curb.

 “Sorry about the radio silence for the past few weeks.” Mr. Solo flicks his ashes out the window, shrugging. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I forgot that you don’t like teenage boys.”

I laugh. “And he’s dating my best friend.”

Ben shifts in his seat and frowns. “Rose Tico? Ah. I assumed there was an issue there, with the way she’s been ignoring you.”

Even he’s noticed how strained my relationship with Rose is nowadays. I shrug, lowering my gaze to my hands knitted in my lap. I miss her. But she’s happy with Finn and I’ve been in such a funk recently.

Mr. Solo rolls up his window. My eyes flicker to his large hand just as it settles over my knee.

 “I’m sorry, Rey,” he says quietly. “It’s always lonely when you’re different.”

I nod. I can’t speak or I’ll cry.


	9. habits (stay high)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our last night has an amazing cover of this song btw {habits (stay high)}

We drive through town and stop outside a tall run-down apartment building. My heart pounds. Okay, I’m going into his apartment. Okay. I have to stay calm even if I feel like I’m about to scream.

Ben gets out and opens my door for me. He grasps my elbow so I don’t slip in the snow and casts a casual glance around. I shiver. This isn’t a bad part of town, but it’s not the best. He locks his Jeep and swings his keys around his index finger, a pleasant little jangle.

Up some cement stairs. He opens the worn brown door for me and I skitter inside like a nervous rabbit. Ben follows after another look around.

He unlocks a rusty mailbox in the foyer. I squirm. It’s dark and smells faintly like alcohol and… a skunk? Does he really live here?

 “Is this okay?” I ask timidly. “I don’t want you to get in trouble.” Also, I thought we’d go to a movie theater.

Mr. Solo nods, leafing through a stack of mail. “Yeah, just keep it between us.” His brown eyes flicker up to mine and he smiles. “But you’re already good at that.”

A smile breaks before I can stop it. I like being praised.

Up we go—all the way up to the third floor. The floors creak and the walls have chipped paint and some holes. I keep my arms folded and walk along behind my teacher.

 “Holly took the house,” Ben explains. Key crunch. He smiles ruefully. “I’ll have to take those boards now.”

It’s small inside, but smells nice. I peer around as I walk past him to inspect the joint, shuffling and unsure. There’s a small living room with old furniture and a big window, and a tiny kitchen. He has a black futon instead of a couch. Not much décor, just some generic pictures on the white walls.

I’m in a guy’s apartment. My chest swells with excitement as Mr. Solo strolls past me to set his mail on the kitchen counter. I notice dust on the TV and futon. Maybe he doesn’t have many guests. He seems private.

He takes off his coat. “Tacos? Or something else?”

 “Um… whatever is fine.” I tug my shoes off.

 “Low maintenance, huh?”

Yep.

Then he walks right up to me, sauntering calm and casual, and unzips my sweater. His sweater. Our sweater. The teeth split open; slow click right down to the hem draping past my hips. I dig my fingernails into my palms.

 “How about…” Ben slips the sweater off my shoulders and hangs it up with his coat. He deadbolts the door. “You pick the movie while I go get changed?”

 “Okay,” I say.

 “Oh, wait—shit. You need a tour.” He motions for me to follow.

We walk through the living room down a short hallway. He shows me the bathroom, which is a bathroom, and my pulse quickens as he opens his bedroom door. Bedroom. Bedroom.

Mr. Solo steps aside near the door, hands in his pockets. He watches with a small, encouraging smile as I tiptoe over the beige carpet.

A bed without a headboard is wedged in the far corner under a dusty window. The sheets are messy and green, spilling on the floor, because he doesn’t make his bed like I don’t make mine. Nightstand with a lamp, dresser with a small TV, and one of those CD towers. It’s plain. Lived in. Smells like cologne and something I can’t place.

I imagine him waking up in that bed every morning with his black hair a mess. Has Holly been in that bed?

I turn, smiling. “It’s bigger than mine.”

Mr. Solo has his arms folded over his broad chest. He looks bigger than usual.

He smiles back. “Yeah? What color sheets do you have?”

 “Blue. I don’t make my bed in the morning, either.”

 “Pointless.” He rolls his eyes. “Another thing Holly used to bitch about. But not you, hm?” Head tilt. “You really are an interesting woman, Miss Rey. Why don’t you look around?”

I’m an interesting _woman_ —not a girl.

I’m not sure why Mr. Solo wants me pawing through his stuff. His dark eyes follow me to his closet, where I find lots of clothes and a suit hanging up. Shoes lie in a scattered pile on the floor. He’s messy as hell.

I arch on my tiptoes to check out his trinkets on the dresser. Baubles from traveling, like snow globes and stuff, and a weird orange blown glass thing with brown stuff in a little bowl. I pick it up and frown.

 “You smoke?”

Smoke? I blink at Ben.

 “…No,” I reply after a pregnant pause.

He shrugs off the door and walks over, plucking the thing from my fingers.

 “Want to try?” he asks with a beguiling smile.

No. “Sure!”

I’ll do whatever he wants.

Ben opens the dresser drawer and takes out a Zippo lighter along with a telltale baggie of green stuff. He leads me back to the living room and we sit down on the futon.

 “Isn’t this illegal?” I ask, stupidly.

He laughs as he sprinkles weed in the bowl. I flush, suddenly feeling like a girl again.

 “Technically, yes. Are you going to tell on me?”

 “No,” I mumble. “Sorry.”

I’m not going to look like a loser, either. I sit and watch Ben press the business end of the bowl to his lips and light the end. Green flickers cherry red. It burns away under the fire.

He doesn’t exhale for a minute. I’m nervous and uncomfortable but also extremely curious. Gray smoke slithers through his lips a moment later.

 “You hold it in your lungs,” he explains, still breathing smoke like a dragon.

My teacher helps me hold the thing to my lips. He lights it for me, not for as long as he did for himself, and I draw in a deep breath.

It burns. I jerk back, spluttering and coughing, and Ben inhales what I didn’t. He laughs after and starts coughing himself.

Tears well up from the force of my wheezing. He’s still laughing—I giggle and swat his forearm with the back of my hand. His dark eyes sweep down my body as he takes another hit.

I try again. This time I keep the smoke in for a few seconds before I cough it out. I don’t feel any different.

 “It takes a few hits.” Ben reads my mind. He’s holding the bowl for me again and lighting it. “You’re doing great.”

All his praise makes me feel like the coolest person on the planet.

He leaves to get changed and order pizza. I dump out the burnt weed and put more in, practicing while he’s gone so I don’t look as dorky. Some sitcom is playing. I’m too concerned about smoking to care.

This is awesome. The coolest thing I’ve ever done. I manage to light the thing on my own and take a deep breath, lungs burning, eyes closed. Warm.

Ben comes back in gray sweats and a Nirvana T-shirt. He sits right next to me, thighs pressing. I exhale while he flicks and inhales. Now I know what the weird smell was in the foyer.

 “You’re gonna get hungry,” he says as he breathes out. “ _Really_ hungry.”

The drug might be working. I feel calmer. My limbs are light and fluffy like I can drift up into the clouds. I’m sleepy, I think. And—yeah—my stomach is emptier than its ever been. He smiles when I rub my belly.

Then he’s up and out in the kitchen. “You should send me pictures of your bedroom. It’s only fair after you’ve seen mine, right?”

I nod. I’m not as anxious now. Don’t feel like I’m about to stroke out every time he speaks to me.

Mr. Solo comes back with chips and two red cans of beer. I’m not going to make the mistake of questioning him treating me like an adult again. I’ve drank beer. I pop it open and struggle not to flinch at the bitter taste.

He leans back, legs spread. “And since you’ve seen _my_ pajamas, I should see yours.”

 “I sleep naked.” I don’t, but it seems like a funny joke.

 “Oh?”

 “Yep.”

The sun’s setting. Shadows creep across the living room and the television flickers blue light. Ben eyes me, smiling as he takes another drag from the bowl. Green glows red.

 “Then show me,” he says.

I choke back another swig of beer. “Um… how do you mean?”

He exhales. “Go stand in front of the television and show me how you sleep, honey.”

_Show me how you sleep._

Chills shiver down my spine. I blink, then ride to my shaky legs and pad around the coffee table. Mr. Solo settles back with his beer in one hand and phone in the other. He types for a moment, still smiling, then nods toward me.

 “Go ahead,” he murmurs. “It’s okay.”

Excitement and confusion breed nausea in my gut. I think he’s recording me.

Trembling, I peel off my pink T-shirt first. My bra doesn’t quite fit and it’s old and white. I don’t really need one but wear it just in case. I’m tan and knobby everywhere.

But I keep going. I hook my thumbs in the hem of my leggings, eager to please, and shimmy them down my thighs to my ankles. Ben rubs his mouth to hide the smirk spreading across it. My panties are blue, from some Walmart multipack that cost five bucks.

I redden. “S-sorry it doesn’t match.”

 “White and blue match, silly goose.” He licks his lips, voice dropping a pitch. “Are you nervous?”

 “…Yes,” I admit in a mumble.

 “Don’t be. You’re safe with me.”

The doorbell rings. Mr. Solo sets his phone aside and answers it, chatting with the delivery guy while I stand there half naked. The man peers at me and his brow furrows. I’m embarrassed and I feel weird.

Ben notices the guy staring. He shifts himself between us and pulls the door half shut.

 “Get a good look?” he whispers menacingly.

 “Dude, no, I’m sor—”

Skin hits skin and I hear a crack. There’s a thud as the delivery man falls on the floor with a yelp. I catch him rolling to the side, cupping his bloody nose as Ben slams the door shut.

He drops the pizza on the coffee table and beckons me over. I start reaching for my shirt.

 “Ah, ah.” He waves a finger, shaking his head. “Pajamas only zone.”

The pleasant haze in my brain is turning sour. I grab his sweater from the back of the front door and zip it back on before joining him on the futon. Mr. Solo cocks his head.

I shrug, helping myself to pizza. “I usually sleep with it.”

His smile widens.

 “Oh. Okay.”


	10. between iron & silver

“Seriously, Rey, are you okay?”

No. It’s Monday and we’re in lunch and I spent my whole weekend not hearing from Mr. Solo. I went home and puked after we ate our pizza. He’s avoiding me again. I want to cry.

I pick at my pizza. “I’m fine.”

Rose and Finn don’t look convinced. They exchange a glance but don’t press me. It’s better that way. They don’t care anyway. I just want to go back to Ben’s apartment and get lost again. But I feel sick when I think about stripping in front of him. Skin crawls.

Rose wrinkles her nose a minute later.

 “Wash your sweater. It smells like pot.”

—————

Being in class is even weirder, and it’s not just because we’re going through health stuff.

Mr. Solo sits behind his desk, rocking back on the chair legs while he scrolls through a PowerPoint. He’s not nervous like I am. Khakis and a blue dress shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He snaps his gum.

 “So after nine months—” He clicks to the next slide and everyone makes retching sounds. “This happens.”

It’s a vagina. Giving birth. A baby’s head is coming out and I’ve honestly never been more disgusted. I cover my mouth and look away.

 “Worth the risk!” Poe calls.

 “Tell that to child support.” Mr. Solo clicks onward. “So, to summarize: don’t do drugs, don’t drink, and don’t have sex.”

Bazine raises her hand. “Isn’t that all the fun stuff?”

He snaps and points at her. “Bingo.”

Everyone laughs. I glance up from my notebooks and catch him staring at me. He smirks behind his hand and winks, eyebrows raised. I go back to doodling eyes to hide my blush. We haven’t done _one_ of those things.

A chair creaks behind me. Someone sniffs really loud. All I wear now is the sweater.

 “Mr. Solo?” Bazine again. “I think Rey needs an intervention.”

My spine prickles. Rose doesn’t turn around to defend me this time. She rubs the back of her neck and leans over to whisper to Finn.

Mr. Solo’s chair thuds on the floor. “Don’t fucking start, Bazine.”

 “She reeks of weed,” Kaydel adds. “Maybe she should learn how to use a shower, too.”

Poe groans. “Seriously? Why are you two so mean all the time?”

 “Maybe she’ll run away again?” Bazine says innocently. I can see her smirk in my head. “Bet she’s smoking behind the gym.”

The chair clatters. Ben is on his feet, calm smile replaced with a stormy scowl. He stalks past me to Bazine’s desk and leans over the front, casting a glare between her and Kaydel. I can smell his cologne, thick and heavy. Rose turns to watch and I can see everyone is nervous.

Mr. Solo settles his palms on their desks. “You two like being mean, don’t you? So do I. In fact—I’m _so_ mean, that both of you are going to be suspended for a week. How’s that sound?”

They don’t speak. They leave for the principal’s office. No one else speaks, either.

My phone vibrates while we’re watching a woman giving birth. I frown as I check it.

> **Kylo:** _I’m sorry, honey._

 “Who’s that?”

I jump at Rose’s question and babble an excuse. She doesn’t buy it. She glances at our teacher.

 “Okay,” she says. “But seriously—wash that thing. It _reeks._ ”

I don’t want to. It smells like him.

—————

> **Me:** _you didn’t text me all weekend_

I’m mad. He just ignores me after I get half naked in his house and he gives me drugs. Fuck him. Fuck _him._

I throw my phone across my bedroom and cradle my head in my hands. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep hanging on every word he says and praying my phone vibrates. It’s driving me crazy.

Then it vibrates and I hurry to get it.

> **Kylo:** _I know. I’m sorry._
> 
> **Me:** _i’m sorry i complained_

He texts me right back. _I’m coming to get you._

Okay. I’m over the edge again doing whatever the fuck he wants.

Unkar is passed out on the couch watching _The Price Is Right._ I walk right out the front door into the chilly afternoon and hurry up my driveway to the Jeep. My uncle doesn’t care about where I go. Never has from the day I walked in the door with my luggage.

Mr. Solo smiles as I get in the car. He’s still in his outfit from school. His eyes are hooded.

 “Guess what I did?” he asks.

I put on my belt and he pulls away from the curb. He smells faintly of marijuana.

 “What?” I ask, kind of nervous.

He rubs his mouth and laughs. “I slashed Jake Netal’s tires.”

… _What_? Ben keeps laughing and I realize he’s maybe not completely sober. I stare at him and feel my stomach flip flop. Why… why would he do that? That’s not very nice.

Then I realize: he did it for _me_ , and the same pitiful neediness that’s drawn me in from the start makes me swell with pleasure. Bazine is suspended and he drove the point home by slashing her dad’s tires.

I’m flattered. No one’s ever cared about me that much—enough to cause damage. It’s thrilling. Dangerous, maybe.

I manage a laugh. “Why?”

Ben doesn’t look at me. Orange street lamps illuminate his long face.

 “You know why.”

I don’t. Or I do, and it’s weird to admit it to myself.

I smile and look at my fingers knitted in my lap. Wow. He really _does_ like me.  


	11. wild nights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so this is like a weird dubcon type scene just warning yall

 “Yeah, I know; I’ll come get my shit on Saturday.”

We’re in the foyer. Ben’s checking his mailbox, iPhone crooked between his ear and shoulder. One letter today. I hover behind him with my hands clasped behind my back.

He rolls his eyes and puts the phone on speaker. A woman’s yelling comes across the line.

 “—You son of a bitch!” she snaps. “Fuck you and fuck whatever disgusting whore you scraped off the floor in the club!”

Yikes. Mr. Solo raises his eyebrows at me and keeps letting the woman shriek about how much she hates him and how repulsive he is. We slowly walk upstairs.

 “Holly,” he sighs, “seriously— _stop._ ”

 “No! You fucking dump me after we already started planning the wedding?! I told all my friends—we paid for the invitations! Because you—you met someone else?!”

I press my lips to hide a smile.

Ben unlocks his front door. “Well, I’ll be over Saturday. Just… relax. Go stay with your sister or something.” He steps aside to let me in first. “And don’t forget to take your pills.”

 “Fuck _you._ ”

Pretty fiancée hangs up as Ben shuts the door. He blows out a long breath and locks it.

I push off my sneakers and nudge them next to his enormous gray boots. Before I look up, he’s unzipping my sweater, and my breath catches. I’m surprised enough to jerk back.

He laughs lightly. “Where’re you goin’?” The teeth clack down and split at the hem. Déjà vu. “Running away from me?”

 “No,” I mumble. “Sorry.”

 “No worries.” Ben slips the sweater off me and his warm breath is on my ear. “You can run, but you can’t hide.”

Goosebumps dance up my forearms. _You can run, but you can’t hide._ Is he kidding, or…

He walks off to the bathroom with my sweater, probably to wash it. That makes me sick with anxiety. I mean, there’s memories attached to it. Smells and touches and—I don’t want it all scrubbed away. It smells like home.

I sit stiff on the futon. There’s some decorations in the apartment now: framed pictures and baubles on end tables. It looks like he might be settling in. Seems like pretty fiancée and Mr. Solo really are done. Maybe he’ll marry me.

He comes back in red plaid pants and a sleeveless white shirt. I stare at his arms as he does something in the kitchen. He’s talking to me. I’m watching the muscles jump and tighten in his biceps; the twist of the veins and sinew in his forearms. Wow. He doesn’t look like any teenage boy I’ve seen before.

Ben smokes a blunt, shaking his head as he pours beer in a tall glass. “Always trying to fix them, y’know? I can’t, but…” He waves dismissively. “Blah blah, insert Freudian bullshit. You ever heard of the Oedipus complex?”

I shake my head. “No. I know Freud was always loaded, though.”

His eyebrows jump and he bursts out laughing. I shift and preen. I’m funny.

 “Yeah, everything he said seems like a coke-induced fever dream.” Mr. Solo gets another glass. “He said that every man wants to fuck his mother—Oedipus—and every woman wants to fuck her father—Electra.”

 “What if I’ve never met my dad?” I ask.

 “Then you look for him everywhere. Usually older men and one-night stands.”

Hm. I don’t think I’m looking for my father. I’m pretty ambivalent towards him. I laugh though, excited that Mr. Solo is being so casual with me.

He sits right next to me and offers the blunt. I take it without hesitation, inhaling deep, hoping to join him in being fucked up. His warm thigh presses on mine.

 “How’d you like watching _The Miracle of Life_?” Ben asks. “Traumatizing?”

 “I didn’t know my body could do that, honestly.”

 “Oh, it can.” He takes a long drink of beer.

We keep drinking and smoking. We’re watching _The Daily Show._ Our Chinese food arrives and when I’m done with my lo mein, the room is dark and my head spins. Maybe I’ll nap.

Ben yawns. “Can we wait for me to bring you home? I’m not good to drive yet.”

 “Unkar won’t notice, anyway.” I shrug and peer down the hall. “Um… maybe my sweater is clean?”

 “Let’s check.”

We walk. I stumble down the hall to the bathroom and snatch my warm sweater from Mr. Solo. He smirks.

 “Ready for bed?” he prompts.

 “Mhm.” I wrap my arms around the sweater and yawn. “I’ve been ready.”

Ben guides me around the corner to his bedroom. He throws back the sheets and encourages me to get comfortable, then turns on his small television. The image is hazy for a moment—then I recognize a naked woman.

He turns and smiles. “Pajamas?”

Oh—oops. I sit up in his bed and try to pull my shirt over my head. It gets stuck, and Ben tugs off my leggings in the meantime. His fingertips graze my warm skin.

My teacher stands, looming between my knees, and casually takes off his shirt.

My lips part. I gawk. I can’t help myself. Mr. Solo is _big,_ broad and strong, and he has a faint outline of abs down his stomach. He crawls over me to lie on the inside of the bed and I keep staring at the television. He’s a _man_ , not a boy.

He doesn’t touch me. “You need anything? Water? More food?” Then he does—pokes my rib. “More weed?”

I swallow hard. “I’m okay. Thanks.”

The bed is worn-in and warm. Comfortable. It has a faint scent like sweat and detergent. Something else, too; musky, like… man?

I watch as the movie begins. It takes a few minutes for the woman to start fucking her professor, right in the middle of his office. It makes the back of my neck prickle. I’ve never watched porn. When I masturbate, I go off memory, and even then I’m not very creative.

I’m buzzed—maybe drunk. Mr. Solo sidles closer and sighs. I shrink into the sheets.

 “So?” he murmurs. “Do you like it?”

 “I think so.” I can feel his body warm behind mine. My pulse quickens.

He reaches past me for the nightstand drawer, pushing his chest on my back. My ears ring. I’m definitely drunk, and the sounds of the woman moaning and wet skin slapping together makes me wince. Ouch. Loud.

Ben doesn’t say anything. He rolls over on his back and I hear a click. Then his thumb slips under the hem of my panties, right over the arch of my hip, and he squeezes.

I don’t budge. Heat creeps in my head.

Rhythmic wet clicking starts behind me. He groans softly, low enough that I barely catch it, and I realize with _very_ mixed emotions that my teacher is jerking off next to me. My back is turned but I’m watching a professor banging his student over a desk. It’s bizarre.

I bury my nose in the sweater. “I—I think I should go home.”

 “Yeah?” Moves faster. “You want to go home?”

 “Yes.”

His breath catches. “What color are your sheets, honey?” I don’t answer for a second and he squeezes my hip. “What color, sweetheart?”

My mouth is dry. I rub my thighs together.

 “Blue,” I mumble.

 “Twin bed?”

 “…Yes.” I close my eyes. I’m not sure how I feel right now. “It creaks.”

 “Mhm—mhm—” He breathes sharp and hard. “You have—you have stuffed animals?”

I nod but don’t speak. Ben makes a sound I’ve never heard from a man before. It makes me nervous. I realize I shouldn’t be here. I like him and I like the attention, but this is not something I’m ready to even hear.

He keeps going for a few minutes until I hear him swear and grunt. Huffing and moaning join in; fingertips press painfully into my hip. My head spins. He’s climaxing.

 “— _Fuck_ ,” he grunts. “Oh, fuck—” Mr. Solo gasps and his legs writhe. Words fail.

Then it’s over.

Neither of us moves, though. He catches his breath, takes his hand off me, and maybe rubs his face. Then he finally leaves the bed, crawling over my legs to walk off to the bathroom. I don’t move. I’m trembling. I feel nauseous.

Water runs. Ben comes back with his pants low on his hips and moisture on his belly. He leans across me to adjust the sheets, turns off the TV. Kisses my temple.

 “I’ll be in the living room if you need something.”

And he leaves me alone in his bedroom in quiet silence. I stare into the darkness. I can’t stop shaking.


	12. ice vein

And in the morning, Mr. Solo wakes me up like nothing is wrong.

I’m in his bed, snuggling his sweater, head on his pillow. He touches my shoulder and murmurs my name to wake me; I blink, drowsy, and my heart skips a beat. His dark eyes study me. Calculating.

He rubs his thumb on my shoulder. “How’d you sleep, Miss Rey?”

 “…Fine.” I avert my eyes. “Isn’t it a school day?”

 “Yeah, I just called and said I’d be out.” He smiles and pats my arm. “I’ll make breakfast. Feel free to take a shower.”

Oh, so I’m skipping too? Not that I mind. I fucking hate going to school. It’ll be nice to spend the day doing nothing and hanging out with him.

I smile back and thank him, and Ben leaves me alone in his bedroom.

Last night is a blur. I try to think about what exactly we did and come up empty. Mr. Solo wouldn’t take advantage of me or anything. He’s been nice to me so far. I’m not even—I won’t even entertain the _idea_ that he would do something gross. Disgusting.

He would never. I mean, he was engaged, so… no one would marry a person like that.

The water pressure is much stronger than at home. I scrub my hair with his Old Spice shampoo and let the water pound on my back for a while. I close my eyes. What did we do last night? I feel like I’d remember having sex. Everything feels the same in my vagina… region.

I dry off and dress in the sweater and my leggings. I’m nosy, so I open Ben’s medicine cabinet.

Not much. Floss, toothpaste, stuff for shaving… Tylenol. I find a brush under the sink and clean the taste of beer out of my mouth.

Breakfast is on the table when I come out. Eggs and bacon and toast. I can’t remember the last time I sat down and ate breakfast. Years, maybe?

Ben peers at me from the kitchen. “Nice and clean?”

I nod as I sit. “Yeah, thanks a lot. This looks great.”

He joins me a minute later. We eat quietly, and I’m too hungry to be insecure. My teacher scrolls through his phone, rolling his eyes occasionally, and eats about double what I wolf down. He has a shirt on, at least.

Then he gathers our empty plates and puts them in the dishwasher. He leaves, but comes back with a home ec textbook and a blank piece of paper. I blink as he sits again and beckons me.

 “Might as well start your homework for tomorrow,” Mr. Solo says. He smiles. “Come.”

I hesitate. “Um… I can do it from here.”

 “You can, but I want you to sit in my lap.”

Oh—okay. I squirm in my chair before I get up and shuffle over to sit in his lap like he wants.

He wraps an arm around my waist and adjusts me. Muscles tighten under my thighs. Ben is _big_ and strong; warm and hard. I lean over the table, picking up a pen, and watch him turn the pages of the textbook.

Tongue clicks. “This chapter is about sex ed again. Don’t know why I’m stuck teaching it.”

I redden. I’m afraid to move.

His arm stays draped around my waist. Ben pauses on chapter ten, which is about pregnancy.

 “Gross,” I mutter.

 “A gross miracle.” He points to a graphic of the blastocyst developing to the fetus. “That microscopic thing turns in a baby, then grows up into an adult.” Fingers rub my stomach. “You can do that, Rey. Isn’t that amazing?”

This time, I move my hips.

 “I guess.”

Mr. Solo nuzzles the back of my head while I start the reading. He runs his palms along my thighs and breathes on my nape. I tremble.

 “Do you want to have babies?” he whispers.

I shrug.

He holds my hips firm. It makes an excited tingle wiggle up my spine. I can’t get away.

 “How old are you?”

 “Fifteen.” I feel his erection against me, between my legs. I’ve never felt one before.

 “Fifteen…” Ben sighs. “Do your homework.”

We carry on in silence. He rolls my hips into his lap and I pretend to be focusing on my homework. Sometimes I try to stand, just to get his reaction: he yanks my hips and shushes me. It makes my stomach flip. I can’t get away.

This time he comes quietly. He huffs between my shoulder blades and stiffens. I don’t move.

 “— _Ah_ ,” Ben grunts.

Then he lets me up.

I stumble to my feet. Ben catches his breath while I’m overcome with the same gross feeling from before. Oh god. He just… _oh god._

 “Hey.”

He links our fingers and tugs me between his knees. We stare at each other.

Then he leans forward and kisses me, chaste and soft on the lips. My eyebrows raise. Oh. _Oh._ His lips feel nice on mine and I can taste bacon.

Mr. Solo draws back and heaves a sigh.

 “I’m sorry.”


	13. cucumber

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah i named this chapter cucumber LOL

Rose texts me a few times asking if I’m sick. I lie. _I’m super sick_ , I tell her. Black Plague sick. I say I can’t stop puking and I’m running a 104-degree fever and she should start my eulogy.

But I’m lying in our home ec teacher’s bed watching _Seinfeld_ while he tries to get his ex fiancée to calm down. It’s warm under the covers and it smells like Ben. I close my eyes and wriggle deeper; rub my thighs together. We _kissed._

 “What did I do wrong?”

Holly’s crying in the hallway. She keeps trying to get in and see me and Ben keeps shoving her out. He told me to hide in the closet if she gets in the apartment, but I’m okay for now.

Ben’s losing his patience. “Christ, Holly. What do you want me to say?”

 “We already bought the invitations!”

 “Yeah, _I know._ Repeating it sixteen fucking times doesn’t change anything.”

Guilt bubbles in my gut. This is my fault.

The argument eventually ends and Holly storms off. I peek from the sheets when Ben comes into the bedroom, jaw set right. He’s tense.

I blink. “Um… I can leave?”

He shakes his head as he approaches. “No, I want you to stay. Don’t worry about her.”

I’m worried. I don’t want to hurt a stranger, even if I have a huge crush on her fiancé. But Ben climbs into bed with me and settles behind my back, and his fiancée is the least of my concerns.

Commercials roll. Body heat mingles with mine as he curves himself around my body.

I shift, nervous. “Uh—she sounded pretty upset.”

He doesn’t reply.

Our bodies rub together, back to chest, and he feels hard and soft at the same time. He breathes in my hair. His hips roll. He’s not going to say what he’s doing again: he’s just going to do it and assume I won’t refuse. Which I won’t. I _really_ hate conflict and I _really_ like attention.

Even if it’s bad; even if it makes me sick to my stomach; even if it makes my skin crawl. I crave it, I think. But I’ve never been addicted to anything.

Fingertips bite my bare hip bone and I wince. Ben pushes his weight on me, rolls me on my belly so he’s half on top of me. He worms a knee between my thighs to keep me pinned. His other hand grasps the edge of the mattress. It’s all slow. Move, hesitate, move, hesitate. Waiting for a reaction I’m too afraid to give.

I keep my hands under my chest. The television carries on softly and he starts _moving_ ; flexing his hips, then he pauses to angle me up more.

 “There we go,” he whispers into my hair. He pushes between my legs, hard and hot, and huffs. “There we go.”

Anxiety tingles up my back. I swallow, watching the TV, and press my thigh against his knee. Ben breathes quietly and the bed rustles. It feels like he’s suffocating me.

I flush when he moves his hips again. He’s hard. It startles me and I try to get up.

He pulls me back. “Something wrong?”

 “I… I should go,” I mumble.

 “But we’re having a nice time watching TV.” He rubs, slow and rhythmic. “Are you not having a nice time?”

 “I can w-walk home.”

 “Don’t be silly. It’s freezing.” Ben curls his arm to brush my hair away from my forehead. “Let’s see if I can help you have a nice time, too.”

The doorbell rings—repeatedly. Ben groans and slips away from me to answer it. I’m left quivering under the covers, aroused and nervous. Is this how I’m supposed to feel?

 “Holly—get _out_!”

Alarm bells. I stumble out of bed and skitter to the closet to hide like Ben instructed.

It’s full of crap. Feet pound down the hall so I shove things aside and worm my half-naked self into the furthest corner I can find.

 “I know she’s here!” Holly shrieks. Something crashes. “Where the hell is she, Ben?!”

They shout at each other. I hear them struggling, maybe Ben dragging her, and Holly screams again. Her voice fades but my heart keeps pounding until I hear the front door shut.

I take a deep breath. I didn’t even realize I was holding it.

 “Rey, honey—it’s safe.”

Ben’s voice is rough from yelling. I pick my way out of the closet, stepping over shoes and old sports equipment, then out into his bedroom.

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed. He blinks and smiles at me. His gaze seems tired.

I twiddle my thumbs. “I should get going. Unkar might wonder where I am.”

 “Yeah—let’s hang out for a bit more.”

_Hang out._

Dark eyes track me across the room. Ben guides me into his bed and this time lays on his back. He gathers me to his ribs with one arm and nuzzles the crown of my skull. For a minute, I think we’re just going to lie there and nap.

Then he reaches down through the covers. He breathes on my ear.

 “Can you grab that blue bottle from my nightstand?” Ben murmurs.

 “Sure—sure.”

I turn over and peer inside the drawer. There’s lots of stuff, like some magazines and something that looks like a rubber ring. My cheeks flush. Handcuffs with fuzz on them, some purple thing with a handle, and a long pink vibrator. I stare at it, frozen and mortified.

 “Oh—see it? Under the plug.”

Ben’s voice drifts in my ear. He’s leaning across my body again, in my space, and I feel _Him_ on my lower back. I don’t budge as he reaches around my to pick up the bottle of lube.

It flicks open behind me. “Don’t worry, honey. It’s all brand new and clean.”

Then he rolls back, tugging me with him, and I see _Him_ before I can even think of looking away. He has his pants pushed down and his cock is there, erect with a slight curve toward his belly.

Ben’s stomach muscles tighten when he wraps a big hand around his dick. I stare. It’s really big.

He slowly works his hand up and down, squeezing along each stroke. Fluid beads at the top. It’s like I’m staring at something evil and alien. I don’t think I’d ever want it inside my body.

 “Do you want to touch me?” Ben whispers.

I shake my head fast.

 “Okay.” He pats my thigh with the hand around my waist. “Okay—I understand. No worries.”

I’m helpless, but fascinated. I watch him pump his hand and circle the mushroom-shaped tip with his thumb. His hips roll. He bucks into his own touch, groaning, and the skin jumps and tightens across his stomach. I hardly notice him squeezing and rubbing my thigh.

Ben rests his cheek on top of my head. “See how much precum is coming out? I’m close.” He takes a staggered breath. “That can make you pregnant, you know. Precum.” His hand slides from my thigh to my stomach. “I could get you pregnant right now, little Miss Rey.”

I pull away a bit and he laughs. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to. I could, though.” He groans, long and low. “I could if I wanted to.”

That makes me incredibly uneasy. But he climaxes almost right after and I instead focus on how bizarre _that_ is.

His cock pulsates in his hand and Ben tugs on it. Thick, white globs drizzle from the tip and some squirts out all the way up to his chest. He arches his back, swearing as semen dribbles down his fist into thick black hair. I’m mesmerized.

It ends, though. Ben yawns and wipes his hand on his bare stomach and I squint at the cum he’s covered in. He settles back, arm curled around my waist, and yawns again.

 “Good girl,” he mumbles.


	14. r'lyeh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> think i'm going to go with spite updating for $500

Back home, it feels like I’m floating.

Not in the good way. Not like I’m high and watching TV and forgetting all the bad things going on around me. It’s like my mind disconnects from my body, buzzing into the atmosphere to watch the meat suit I inhabit continue to make stupid fucking decisions. I don’t think I can feel my fingertips.

Unkar doesn’t have anything to say from his well-worn spot on the couch. He glances at me for a split second, grunts, and looks back to _The Price Is Right_. I can’t get the image of Mr. Solo’s dick out of my head. It’s seared in my eyelids—I see it whenever I close my eyes, spewing jizz like some pus-filled Eldritch horror.

It shouldn’t gross me out, right? It’s supposed to be hot. But I’m scared and I’m sinking into something I don’t understand, and I don’t know who to tell or what to do. Maybe it gets easier the more times you see it. Right? Right?

—————

  _“I could get you pregnant right now, little Miss Rey.”_

I’m screaming as I wake up from my dream—right in the middle of class, right next to Rose, right in front of Ben.

Images from _The Miracle of Birth_ flash in my head as I stare into his dark, curious eyes, right past whatever movie is flickering blue light in the classroom. Everyone looks at me. I can’t breathe.

Mr. Solo raises his eyebrows. “Everything okay, Miss Niima?”

Rose touches my back between my shoulder blades, brows knitted with concern. She knows the look on my face and leads me out of the classroom before I start crying. Ben watches us walk, eyes narrowed, index finger stroking his upper lip. He thinks I’ll tell. I won’t.

Out in the hall, I manage to catch my breath. I rub my chest and squeeze my eyes shut, pushing out thoughts of my belly swelling up with a baby and my vagina tearing open and my teacher’s dick spitting cum in me like a viper. It _looks_ like fucking pus. I can’t believe people swallow it.

I shudder. “I had a nightmare about getting pregnant.”

Rose folds her arms over her chest. She has some hickies on her neck.

 “Why?” she asks simply.

 “I—I don’t know. That movie we watched.”

 “Oh.” She laughs a bit. “Well, you need a guy for that to happen, Rey. Is there anyone?”

The door opens. Ben’s peeking his head out, then he steps into the hallway after threatening detention to anyone who makes a peep.

I glance at his crotch and feel another wave of nausea. It’s there, under khakis, through his belt, through his gray underwear. It’s there, and he can ruin my life with it.

He stuffs his hands in his pockets. “What’s up? Anything I can do?”

 “That movie you showed us traumatized Rey,” Rose snips. “You should warn people before they see it. What if she’s messed up for life?”

Ben blinks. “ _The Miracle of Life_? It’s just childbirth.” He sets his penetrating gaze on me and I can see he’s thinking about the same moment I am. _I could, if I wanted to._

I’m mortified. I’m blowing this way out of proportion. Why am I so upset by a fucking penis? What is _wrong_ with me?

 “It’s graphic and gross, and not everyone wants kids.” Rose seems to be picking up on the weird energy between Ben and me. “I think something’s upsetting her, Mister Solo. Maybe she should talk to the guidance counselor? She won’t talk to me.”

I can’t talk to you, Rose. I want to—but I can’t. This thing is weird and wrong and nauseating, but I can’t let it go. He _likes_ me. Can’t you see it? Don’t you care? Don’t you want me to be happy?

Our teacher shrugs. “Sure. Miss Tico, make sure Dameron doesn’t blow up the classroom. We’ll be back in a bit.”

 “I can bring her,” Rose offers. Tightly.

 “No.” He waves her off. “You’re right. I can learn something from this.”

She hesitates, trying to meet my eyes, but I refuse. The classroom door opens, whispers drift out, then it shuts.

Ben leads me down the hall toward the guidance office. He’s quiet for a minute, just walking alongside my quick shuffling steps. My hands tremble at my sides. His shoes click and mine squeak.

He pushes up his sweater sleeves and takes my elbow, tugging me down another hall toward the art and shop rooms. I teeter after him, chastened by my outburst, and hope he isn’t about to yell at me. Not that Unkar yells. He’s a potato with legs.

We turn another corner and a door opens. I’m engulfed in musty darkness, then warm hands cup my cheeks. I can’t see.

 “I’m sorry I scared you.” His deep voice rumbles in my bones. Warm minty breath tingles on my lips.

 “I—I didn’t tell her,” I stammer. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

Ben kisses the corner of my mouth. “I know, honey. It’s okay.”

I swallow hard and turn my head to meet his lips. They’re soft and wet, more insistent than our last kiss. He draws his tongue along my upper lip and slips inside and now we’re _really_ kissing.

His arms wrap around my waist, dragging us together, and I cling to the front of his shirt. I have no clue what I’m doing. Teeth click. Ben huffs a laugh in my mouth and I try to pull away, embarrassed, but he coos and follows and captures my lips again. His pinky slips under the back hem of my jeans and strokes the elastic on my panties.

Warmth coils in my stomach. His mouth is hot and damp, lingering with the taste of mint and chicken and maybe cigarettes. He leans over me, straining my waist to his hips, and fingertips dig into my skin. Hard heat pushes on my belly.

Ben groans and breaks the kiss. “Shit.” He nuzzles my temple, gathering me closer, arching into me. “Now I’ve got a fucking hard-on at work.”

I lean on my tiptoes to kiss his cheek. It’s easier now that we can’t see each other.

He kisses the side of my throat and grabs one of my thighs, hitching it up over his hip. Then I feel him right between my legs and I wrap my arms around his neck to balance myself. If I roll my hips the right way, we rub together, and I can pretend his dick is something else.

Mr. Solo groans again. It’s a weird angle, and our heights are so skewed that we can’t move much, but we try anyway.

He pants on my hair, twisting my jeans in his hand, and tries rolling his hips in an upward circle. We shift and breathe in the darkness. His heart thuds under mine pattering frantically like a hummingbird. My ears ring and I’m floating again in the good way.

A hard knock on the door comes like a swift kick to the throat.

Ben claps a hand over my mouth before I can shriek in surprise. He presses his forehead to mine and kisses the tip of my nose. I hold my breath and shudder. His skin tastes salty.

 “Hello?”

Rose. My pulse quickens—what if she walks in?! I think of how awful that would be and freeze up even more.

Her shoes scuff outside. She’s listening. Ben pushes harder on my mouth and dips down to my neck, kissing gently, rolling my skin through his teeth. My eyes flicker back and we’re moving again, slower and more cautious than before. His hips turn in tight circles that rub us together just the right way, and I don’t have to look at anything or think about anything.

But we’re dead silent, suppressing our breathing on each other’s skin. It’s really hot. I stretch the leg Ben’s holding and his belt clinks.

He bites my neck. Rose knocks on the door again. I freeze up for a split second, but I’m teetering on the precipice, falling over—animal brain doesn’t care about being heard.

I close my eyes and buck my hips. Over I go, squirming and desperate, fisting Ben’s gray sweater. He stands still, but strokes my cheek with his thumb when I whimper softly into his palm.

 “Rose—come on! She probably went home.”

Finn calls from down the hall. Rose sighs and I hear her sneakers squeak away, then her chattering with Finn. Their voices fade.

Ben swallows. Breathes in my ear.

 “Did you just come?”

He’s still covering my mouth, so I shake my head. No way am I admitting that. Oh my god. What a weird question.

Then he’s moving without another word, rubbing my back up the wall with each thrust. My other foot leaves the floor. I’m feeling kind of used, like a toy he’s humping. I wonder if he’s thinking about someone else. Holly? No. No. No.

Ben twists his neck to smell my hair. His breath catches; hips stutter. A hair-raising grunt is lost against my scalp with some curse words. The way he jerks his hips makes my spine prickle.

He exhales, long and slow, and nuzzles me, then kisses my cheek. We’re both sweaty and blind in the darkness.

 “Neither did I,” he whispers.


	15. me vs. maradona vs. elvis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw: rey is drunk in this chapter, so while she isn't really coerced into anything, she's not capable of giving consent. not sure if it deserves a non-con archive warning, but skip this chapter if you're nor okay with that.
> 
> also the chapter title is a relevant song by brand new

We spill out of the closet, messy and sweaty, and I tremble as I try to fix my clothes. Must’ve missed the end of class. The hall is quiet.

Mr. Solo’s belt clinks. I paw at my hair and nausea bubbles up in my stomach as I realize I have a damp spot between my legs. It can’t soak through. I can’t get pregnant that way. I’m not stupid; I know that’s not how it works.

He tickles a slip of exposed skin on my lower back. Breath on my ear.

 “Why don’t you come over,” he whispers, “and tell me what else you’re afraid of?”

I jump away from his touch, singed by it. He smiles down at me and hooks his first two fingers over the front hem of my jeans; yanks me back. I’m not crazy about how strong he is.

 “I—I have homework.” I squirm away. “I have stuff to do.”

 “I’ll help you, honey. We can have whatever you want for dinner.” Ben kisses my forehead. “I won’t hurt you. You’re too special for that. I was teasing the other day about babies.”

The thought of being pregnant makes me sick. I shove Ben away, and catch his hurt expression, and run off. No. No.

—————

More pregnancy nightmares wrack my brain that night. I cry and pull my hair, but they come right back, with torn vaginas and shit and screaming. I’m never having babies. I’m never letting Mr. Solo rub against me until cum soaks my jeans.

I want to barf. He’s using me. I know he is.

He’ll put a baby in me and disappear. I bet his name isn’t Ben. He’s lying about _everything._ He texts me a couple times to apologize, but I know better than to respond.

I shudder in bed. Yes. That’s what he’ll do.

—————

Rose convinces me to come out to the towpath for a party that weekend. We’ve been drifting apart, so I’m eager to go. It’s freezing cold, but I still want to go. I need to spend time with my friends.

We mill around on the dirt path along the canal, smoking and drinking, and soon I’m imbibing more than I can handle. I maybe text Ben a few times: _what’s your problem_ and stuff like that. I swig cheap beer and laugh when Poe falls in the canal. He’s too heavy for the ice.

I’m not on Mr. Solo’s schedule. I can live my own life. Even if I keep checking my phone and my heart flutters when I see him reply.

He goads me into telling him where I am and then says I need to meet him further up the path.

> **Kylo:** _I’m picking you up. You’re going to get hurt. Boys will take advantage._

So I wander past a couple other drunk people making out on my way to meet him. The voices fade, dropping me into silent darkness, and I sway from side to side. I’m okay. I just got my period, so I know I’m not pregnant. It wasn’t possible, anyway.

 “Honey. Over here.”

I squint towards his hulking shadow. Ben smiles and emerges from the underbrush, arms outstretched, and drags me into a hug. He’s warm. He squeezes me a little too tight.

 “You smell like cheap beer,” he murmurs, nuzzling in my hair. “I can get you better stuff.”

We walk along a bit. He guides me to his black Jeep and laughs as he helps me in the passenger seat. My head spins. This is the drunkest I’ve ever been. I might puke.

Ben leans across me to buckle me in. “I’ve missed you.” He kisses my jaw. “A lot.”

I giggle; paw at his shirt. He squeezes my knee.

Rose doesn’t text me during the drive. I know we’re not going to my house. Ben taps his fingers on the steering wheel and stares ahead.

He helps me out of the car and up the stairs to his third floor apartment. I sway and mumble along the way. I’m sleepy. It’s very dark and that’s great for passing out and forgetting about drinking. Hopefully Rose is okay. Finn takes good care of her, though.

The floor tilts as I wander into Ben’s apartment. Door shuts and locks behind me. Snow drifts past the window over the futon, and a hazy glow from the TV casts eerie blue light across the place. For some reason, my spine prickles.

 “I gave you a pretty good scare last week, huh?”

I watch Ben circle around me, smiling.

 “I had a nightmare about getting pregnant,” I admit. I rub my eyes.

 “By me?”

 “Mhm. There’s no one else.”

 “No?” He takes my hand, guiding me toward his bedroom. “There better not be.”

I laugh because I think he’s joking. He doesn’t look back at me or smile or anything.

Ben shuts the bedroom door behind us. He tells me to get in my pajamas, which is code for getting naked, and I groggily peel my things off. I’m not wearing the sweater, since it annoys Rose. Jeans and a long-sleeve shirt.

Ben turns on his bedroom television. “How many beers did you have?”

I hop on one foot, struggling out of my jeans. Fuck if I remember. A lot?

 “…Six?” I venture. “I dunno. Poe fell through the ice near the—”

 “I’m trying to help you, Rey,” Ben interrupts. He runs a hand through his black hair and sighs. “Before all the bad stuff gets to you like it does everyone else. It was too late for Holly, but it’s not too late for you.”

A movie starts: a really swollen pregnant woman on all fours in a bed. I frown and stiffen when I see a man come up behind her, realizing with dread that they’re about to have sex. Why—why—?

Ben turns and guides me to his bed. I gape up at him. I don’t get what he’s doing. I’m so drowsy. He sits me down and opens the nightstand drawer.

 “I should go home,” I slur. The room spins. “I should go home.”

 “Shh. You don’t need to go anywhere.” He takes out the pink vibrator I noticed last week. “I’m not going to hurt you, honey.”

Ben climbs into bed with me, just in a T-shirt and boxers, and pulls me down beside him. My stomach turns as we shift under the sheets and he curves his huge body behind mine. He loops his arm around my head.

I close my eyes and turn my face away from the TV, but I can still hear the woman moaning. My pulse flutters. I’m drunk but I’m still nervous.

Ben kisses my neck. I hear a click and buzzing.

 “What’s wrong?” he whispers. “Hm?” Vibrations touch just under my belly button.

 “She’s pregnant—it grosses me out.”

Cold plastic roams further down. It nudges under the hem of my panties and… _oh._ I take a sharp breath and squirm, suddenly hot all over. Ben gently works the vibrator up and down and breathes on the back of my head.

 “It’s not gross,” he chastises. “Don’t worry about what the movies show you.” He kisses my shoulder and prods deeper with the vibrator, teasing penetration. “I’ll be there.”

I roll my hips, failing to pick up on what he’s implying. Ben passes the vibrator to me and runs his fingertips along my thigh, smelling my hair and silently listening to me pant. I’m too drunk to care much; now tired and turned on.

It’s weird watching the woman. It doesn’t look right. But after a while I’m lost in a lusty haze and focus on the sound of skin slapping together. My toes curl and I whine.

Ben kisses my cheek. “Are you close?”

 “Mhm—mhm.”

He rolls me over on my side, gathering me to his ribs like he did the last time, and he slips his cock free from his boxers. He reaches over my hip to take control of the vibrator again and tugs my wrist toward his cock. It’s hard and red.

I close my fingers around it and Ben groans. Precum dribbles down my fingers.

 “Fuck,” he huffs, “fuck. Go ahead—go ahead.” He wraps his fingers around mine and guides my hand up and down. “Just like this. Nice and slow. Give a little squeeze.”

It’s hot and sticky, and somehow soft. The skin shifts under my fingers as I do what he says, but Ben keeps his hand cupped around mine. He strokes the back of my palm, twisting the vibrator in my panties, and we both lie there with mingled whimpers and grunts of pleasure.

I nuzzle into his chest and hitch a leg over Ben’s thigh to trap the vibrator between myself and him. A couple moments later and I climax like I did in the closet, whimpering and bucking my hips. I feel Ben’s cock twitch in my hand.

 “Did you just come?” he whispers.

 “Yeah—Yeah, I did.” I swallow as he turns off the vibrator.

Ben groans and squeezes my thigh. “I know you did. Same little sound you made in the closet.” He thrusts into my hand, laughing. “I haven’t gotten a handjob since high school. It’s… _fucking_ hot.”

Then his dick throbs, spilling more precum, and he buries his nose in my hair.

It’s kind of interesting watching him rhythmically thrust his hips. Ben huffs as he climaxes, spurting cum up his body all the way to his chest and soaking our fingers. He strains his neck. It’s dramatic and weird, but not as gross.

The last white globules ooze out of him and I stare while Ben groans and pants. His broad chest rises and falls with deep, hollow breaths under my ear.

 “Jesus—” He swallows loudly and kisses my forehead. “You did such a good job, Rey.”

I’m super sleepy. I turn my hand a few times to look at the sticky mess on it and watch Ben’s cock shrink. Weird. What the fuck?

But I don’t have much time to think. I pass out next to him, hand on his stomach, and he rests his tacky hand on mine.


	16. the little death

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> they bang
> 
> pls note this may be considered noncon by some readers as Rey is extremely unsure and things happen too fast for her to digest them properly
> 
> at best it’s extremely dubious consent

 “Rey?”

Ben’s whisper draws me from a light sleep, back to the reality of lying in his bed right beside him. I frown and stretch. My fingers aren’t sticky anymore. They feel cool and light, like they’ve been washed off.

 “Mm?” I mumble.

His heart beats slow and steady under my palm. He swallows loud enough for me to hear.

 “What do you want to do when you’re older?” he asks, voice raspy.

I shrug. “I dunno. Somethin’, I guess.”

No response. I’m still sleeping off the alcohol, so I begin drifting off again, back to another weird dream, when Ben speaks again.

 “Do you want kids?”

I laugh a little. “Maybe?”

He’s playing with my hair, drawing strands from scalp to tip, and I can tell he’s thinking about something. He threads his fingers through mine and clasps our hands over his broad chest.

 “This is going to sound like an insult,” he murmurs, “but you’d be a good housewife—and mother, I think.”

 “Why is that an insult?”

 “It’s looked down on nowadays. Women can do ‘more’ so ‘more’ is considered ‘better.’”

 “…Oh.” I watch his chest rise and fall for a minute. “Well I’m not offended. I can’t change a diaper, though.”

Ben laughs. He turns on his side and kisses my forehead and I realize we’re both naked. I flush and bury my head under his chin.

 “I can,” he says. He runs a hand down my waist. “What do you think?”

 “Um… that’s cool.”

The shift continues. Ben gently rolls on top of me, settling between my thighs, and kisses the corner of my mouth. He trails a wet line down to my throat and keeps moving around, then I feel pressure. My breath catches.

Ben breathes. “Shh… I won’t hurt you, honey.”

I squirm up, trying to avoid him, but he follows. Sleet rattles the window and blue moonlight casts across the bedroom floor. My breathing picks up and I cling to his biceps, confused and nervous. Is… is this happening? Are we about to…?

I don’t know what I want. I’m so overwhelmed that I can’t begin to say no. He’s on top of me, and heavy, and I think I like him.

Ben nibbles my jaw. “You’ll be such a pretty mommy for me.”

 “I… I…”

Then he rolls his hips forward and I feel the first press of penetration. I know he doesn’t have a condom on and he should and if he doesn’t I can catch a disease or get pregnant. Anxious, I paw at his ribs and clench my thighs around his hips.

 “Condom?” I whisper.

 “We don’t need one for your first time.” Ben’s breath comes hot in my ear. “Just me and you, sweetheart.”

It’s a tight fit. Tears bead in the corners of my eyes and I whimper as he keeps pushing, ignoring my body resisting and squeezing. He groans in my hair and shivers and swears. It feels like too much. It feels like he’s breaking my body open and I don’t know why I ever wanted to have sex.

I push on his calves with the balls of my feet. Ben draws back for a moment and bobs forward again, working me open with slow thrusts. My flesh cracks and breaks for him.

 “All mine,” he huffs. “All mine.”

It’s not the moment I always imagined it would be, with rose petals and a wedding band and a roaring fire. I’m clinging to my teacher while snow washes by outside and we’re in his messy queen bed with the TV flickering off to the right. Nothing romantic. Flesh on flesh; all lust and animal pleasure.

And it hurts. I try not to cry, but I do into Ben’s shoulder when he sinks inside me up to the hilt. My skin prickles—I don’t know why anyone does this.

The bed creaks as he finds his rhythm.

 “Don’t cry,” he whispers. He kisses my cheek, lapping up my tears. “Don’t cry, honey. I know it hurts a little.”

 “I—I want to go home.”

 “You are home. I’ll always be your home.”

His phone rings somewhere in the quiet apartment but he doesn’t care. Ben keeps fucking me and panting in my ear and I get the horrible feeling that I’m a fuck toy. I cry harder.

He groans and suddenly, I’m on top of him, straddling his hips. I sniffle and catch myself on his pecs. Ben licks his lips and squeezes my hips.

 “You can be on top.” He rolls his thumbs between my hip bones, still buried inside me. “Go ahead, little mama. Go ahead.”

It feels better not being pinned underneath him. I sniffle again and hesitantly move my hips, rolling his cock around, and he groans and arches his back. Okay. This is easier.

Ben helps me bounce up and down in his lap, which is uncomfortable at first, but soon I slip into the role. Lust clouds my head. I’ve never been like this. I just…

He cups my breasts and licks his lips. “You on birth control?”

 “No,” I puff. I brace myself on his chest and rub against his pubic bone. “No—I’m not.”

 “Fuck yes. Good girl.”

I keep going until I come, eyes rolling, breath catching. Ben digs his fingers into my hips and swears while I do. He fills every inch of me and I feel my muscles clench and twist around his length.

He rolls over on top of me again, thrusting fast and hard. Fear blooms in the back of my head but I think it’s selfish to complain now. I grasp his hips and listen to him panting and grunting.

 “I love you,” he mumbles. “So much.”

I don’t answer. My heart skips a beat.

Ben keeps talking. “Want to bend you over my desk and fuck you senseless—want to put a baby in you.” He grabs my thigh and squeezes. “You’ll make a good little mama.”

 “I—I don’t want—”

 “Shh… shh. I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” He smiles and kisses me. “Don’t worry.”

I’m worried.

His breathing picks up and he fucks me faster. The bed groans as Ben reaches climax and I have a sensation of him swelling and twitching inside my body. He doesn’t bother pulling out. He gasps, fucking me into the mattress, and I stare up at the ceiling.

 “Oh… god,” he moans. “Rey, Rey…”

Panic sets in. He’s coming inside me. I can get pregnant. It’s repulsive and terrifying and yet, really, _really_ hot.

Ben jerks his hips until he’s done. He laughs and kisses my head, littering soft kisses all over, and growls and nips my jaw. I’m still emotional but I manage to giggle and kiss his cheek. He leans back, still inside me, and frowns at my tears.

My lower lip quivers. “I’m sorry.”

 “Aw, honey. Don’t be sorry.” He kisses the tip of my nose. “You were so good for me. My little mama.”

I burst into tears and Ben rolls over to hold and comfort me. He rubs my back when I nestle in his chest, and I feel safe and warm. I didn’t do anything wrong. It’s just me and Ben.


	17. baby mama

The sky lights up yellow. I wake, no longer a virgin, now conquered by the man lying behind me.

Ben senses me move. He yawns on the back of my neck and shifts closer, stroking his cock along my lower back. I still ache inside.

 “Morning,” he mumbles. “Happy Saturday.”

He kisses my nape and clutches my thigh, lifting up to give him access to my sensitive spot. He’s hot and heavy like he was last night. I nuzzle into the pillows and arch into his touch.

Ben keeps kissing my neck. He rocks his hips, teasing penetration, breaking the first centimeters. I whimper and squirm and gasp as he pushes inside my body. It’s tight; hard. I screw my eyes shut as my teacher breaks me open.

 “Little mama,” he whispers. “Just us.”

He’s fucking me from behind. Ben rolls to lie half on top of me, cock slipping deeper, and he grunts into my hair. I bite my lower lip.

He tickles my hip. “Talk to me. You like this?”

 “I… I don’t know. I don’t get it.” I swallow hard. “It hurts.”

 “Does it? I don’t want to hurt you.”

Ben suddenly rolls and flips me in his lap again. We can see each other in the light of dawn, him elated and smiling, me nervous and trembling. He cups my tits and thrusts his hips. It jerks me up. I like the tension of his cock inside me.

His dark eyes roll. “This good?”

I cling to his chest and try to pretend it is, but tears bead in my eyes. Ben frowns and lifts me off.

He turns me my back and I worry he’s about to fuck me that way. But he smiles and sinks lower, tugging the sheets up, and I don’t know what’s happening. My thighs shiver around his head.

 “Shh…” Ben kisses my knees. “You’ll like this.”

I’m embarrassed for a few moments, then it feels too good to be embarrassed. I squeak in surprise and he laughs, breathing cool against my wet skin, tongue slithering through flesh I usually only explore with my fingers. I swallow hard and moan.

It feels weird—but nice. I’m worried I taste gross, but Ben has his arms wrapped around my thighs and he’s groaning, so I figure I don’t.

I’m still too nervous to come and he eventually creeps back up my body like a spider. He kisses my temple and tries pushing inside me again, and it still hurts, but I’m afraid he won’t like me if I complain. I cling to his shoulder blades, pressing my forehead to his collarbone.

Still no condom. Ben’s flesh is hot on mine as he bears down, pushes in, breaks me open. I grimace in pain and lick my lips.

 “I—I don’t want to—” I’m babbling like an idiot. “Pr-pregnant?”

Then he huffs, annoyed, and suddenly rolls off me on his back. He rubs his face with both hands and holds them there, then groans long and low. I rub my thighs together and shrink under the sheets.

Ben cards his fingers through his hair. “Y’know, Rey—adults do these things. I thought you liked me.”

 “I do, I just—”

 “Birth control is poison, too. Gives you cancer and blood clots and shit.” He sits up, back muscles rippling, twice my size. “I thought you cared about me. I mean, I love _you_ , so…”

Fuck. Fuck.

I wring my hands. “I just don’t want to get pregnant.”

Ben shrugs, drooping his shoulders like he’s sad. I stare at his back and feel all jittery thinking of us having a real baby together. He was so good with the fake one and he’s so mature. But I’m afraid of it changing my body, and coming out, and how weird it will be.

But I’m even more afraid of losing what I have with Ben.

I touch his ribs. “I’m sorry.”

He heaves a sigh and shrugs again.

 “It’s okay, honey.” His dark eyes travel down my chest, hovering and hungry. “You’ll look so gorgeous when you’re pregnant. Nice and round… shiny skin. Holly didn’t want to get pregnant.”

 “I will!” I blurt before thinking. Holly wouldn’t? That’s the only thing that separates me and her. “I will. I’ll do it.”

 “…Are you sure? You don’t seem like you’re ready for sex.”

I’m not.

I kiss his shoulder, and he climbs on top of me again. Ben reaches into the nightstand for the bottle of lube and kisses my cheek while he squirts some out on his palm. Then he’s pushing inside me again and it doesn’t hurt as much. My heart patters.

He sighs. “There we go. Some lube goes a long way for my tight little mama, doesn’t it?”

It helps a lot. I nod, arching up into him, and he slips deeper. Now the stretch feels pleasant and _right,_ not painful and unnatural. Ben is heavy and big, but I like it, and I like his weight on top of me.

 “This feels good,” I mumble.

 “Yeah? Does it?” He seats fully inside me with a grunt. “My sweet honey. I’ll get you good and pregnant with my baby.” His breath rolls across my scalp. “Christ, you’re so tight. Jesus—”

 “S-sorry.”

Ben shakes his head and kisses me on the lips, tongue slipping inside. I cup his face in my hands and try to lose myself in the sensations of sex: the pushing and wet squish and pleasure. Our bodies come together with weird sounds.

 “Don’t be sorry,” Ben whispers. “I love this body. Beautiful inside and out.” He sucks on my neck, clutching the front of the mattress. “Now you’re nice and wet and relaxed for me—and so good. My good little mama with her nice swollen belly.”

 “You won’t leave?” I ask, nervous. “You won’t think I’m gross?”

He fucks me faster, stroking my hair back. He’s smiling and it makes his dark eyes sparkle. I’m positive he loves me.

 “Never,” Ben murmurs. “You’re everything I want, Rey. My perfect little mama.” He licks his lips and his eyes roll back. “Beautiful virgin cunt… only ever felt my cock. You’re all mine.”

 “I… I…”

 “I know—I know. Shh…”

He keeps fucking me, and the bed creaks and rattles. My breath hitches and I manage to climax, whimpering and kicking, and he comes soon after. Ben growls while he spills inside me, again not bothering to pull out. I feel the weird muscle twitches.

He pants when he’s done.

 “Perfect,” he whispers. He kisses my temple. “We’ll make a beautiful baby, little mama.”


	18. campers

I’m not sure which movies are right—the ones that say sex isn’t really a big deal, or the ones that insist it’s an earth-shattering experience that changes you forever. I’m hovering somewhere in between, shifting between the two polar opposites. How do I feel?

 “Fuck! Fucking—campers!”

We’re on the futon, him playing some _Call of Duty_ game while I Google ‘just lost my virginity.’ I’m between his long legs, lying on his stomach on my back, phone tilted so he can’t see. He mutters and swears at the game a lot. Guys are weird.

I click a promising link. “You should play Pokémon. It’s easy and super relaxing.”

Ben jerks a little as he gets into his game again. He’s not really paying any attention to me.

 “Yeah?” he says absentmindedly. The buttons click. “I can’t kill people in Pokémon, though.”

 “No… guess not.”

I keep Googling and decide to keep my mouth shut. I don’t want to bother him. Maybe I’ll talk to Rose about it… but she hasn’t had sex yet, so maybe she won’t get it. I don’t want to freak her out. Then she’ll ask who the guy is and I’ll have to lie.

It seems like mixed emotions are a common thing. I scroll through experiences to make myself feel better and listen to Mr. Solo groaning and swearing at his game. He chucks the controller at one point and huffs in annoyance.

 “Can we work on making our baby?” He pushes his pants down and draws me up in his lap. “Please?”

He’s fucking me before I can reply or resist. I drop my phone as Ben sinks inside me with a pleased grunt, thick cock spreading me open, then he lifts and turns me to face him in his lap. I cling to his shoulders and smooth my palms down his pecs.

Ben smiles. “That’s my good little mama.” He kisses under my jaw and groans. “You’re fucking perfect. Let’s move that little pussy up and down, honey. Nice and tight for me.”

I swallow hard, bobbing up and down, cheeks red. “Um… I’m sorry if this is weird.”

He shifts so his feet are on the floor and I’m straddling his lap. Ben clutches my hips and rolls and flexes me on his cock. He nudges my chin so he can kiss near my ear.

 “Not weird,” he whispers. “Perfect.”

—————

I’m flying.

Mr. Solo wants to make me pregnant and he loves me. He spins in his chair Monday morning and tugs his collar so we catch glimpses of the hickies on his neck. I bite my lip and smile. Those are from me. He’s mine—he belongs to me. We belong to each other.

Bazine snorts. “What happened to your neck, teach?”

Ben scratches one mark and leans back, sighing.

 “A little girl can’t possibly understand.”

—————

 “Miss Niima?”

Rose hovers by when Mr. Solo calls me. She hesitates, but makes me promise to call her later. I slip in his classroom and he locks the door behind me. My skin tingles.

Ben reclines in his black chair and beckons.

 “Come, Miss Niima.” He spreads his legs. “Let’s chat.”

I shuffle over. Mr. Solo draws me into his lap, facing me, and then we’re kissing. His tongue dips in my mouth and I feel his cock hardening against the crotch of my jeans. I whimper and squirm.

He nibbles my throat. “My good girl, ready to make a baby for me.” His breath hitches. “Sit in my chair. I want to taste your cunt.”

Ugh. Fuck.

Ben helps me up and tugs off my panties. He shoves me into his chair, yanking my hips down, and draws the edge under his desk. His dark eyes catch mine and he smirks as his tongue slips through my folds. I gasp, arching my hips. Oh… Oh!

It feels like heaven. His lips drift up to my clit and he laps and licks until I’m thrusting into his tongue. I puff, gazing at his corrected tests on the desk. Ha—Kaydel got a B!

I lounge in Mr. Solo’s chair, squirming and moaning, bucking my hips into his mouth. He licks and sucks until I can’t resist my orgasm and come with a weak wail. I chew my knuckles and writhe.

Ben peers from under the desk, licking his lips.

 “Fuck.” He shakes his head and climbs up my body, squeaking the chair. “I fucking love you.”


	19. i love you

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter is the end

Most of my days are spent in Mr. Solo’s apartment from then on.

Usually I’m underneath him, either on my back or on my belly, and he’s fucking me without a condom. He likes watching porn and making me lie still after he comes so his spend sits inside me for a while. I do what I’m told. It’s what I’m best at.

We watch a lot of movies, smoke a lot of weed, and drink a lot of booze. I hope it’s enough to make him love me.

 “You’ll have to stop when you’re pregnant.”

I blink up at Ben. He’s on top of me, gently thrusting, hilt to head inside my body. I’m high. I nod in agreement and cup his face between my hands, mesmerized by his parted lips and pleasured smile as he moves in and out, in and out.

 “Okay,” I mumble.

 “I love you.” He closes his eyes for a second, huffing. “I love you so much, Rey. We’ll get married when you’re older.”

 “Okay.”

Ben kisses me hard and rolls his hips. He’s going to come soon and so am I. I focus on the sensation of his cock filling me over and over and squirm and then I’m falling apart with weak whimpers. Muscles flutter and clench, dragging him over the edge with me.

 “Fuck,” he grunts. “Oh fuck—”

He jerks hard. I think I prefer when he’s rough. I arch my hips to take him in and close my eyes while he groans in my ear and makes uneven thrusts, spilling inside me. It feels like home, I think.

I like his muscles shifting under my fingertips. I like feeling like I have control over him—even if it’s just for a little while during sex—when he’s reduced to whimpering and whispering to me. I can control this enormous man with my body. That’s wild.

Ben rolls off me when he’s done. He rubs his face.

 “God, you feel amazing.” His chest heaves, shining with sweat. “I love you so much.”

I wring my hands. His cum leaks out of me.

 “…Do you?” I ask tentatively.

He blinks and turns his head, frowning. It’s been a couple months. I’m a little emotional. I’m not pregnant yet and I feel like I’m failing him.

Ben coos and gathers me in his arms. I curl under his jaw and cry into his neck, terrified he’s going to leave me and I’ll be all alone again. I need to get pregnant. If I don’t…

 “Shh,” Ben whispers, “shh… it’s okay, honey. I love you, no matter what.” He nuzzles my hair. “You’re young—sometimes it takes a while to make a baby. I’ll love you no matter how long it takes, and I’ll still love you if it doesn’t happen.”

 “Are you sure?”

 “Positive.” He squeezes me in a tight hug. “I knew the day we met.”

So I cry for a while longer, then we get up and make pizza rolls, then we smoke on the futon.

Then I’m underneath Ben again in his messy bed on my belly while he fucks me from behind. My phone vibrates with a text from Rose, but I don’t care. I close my eyes, losing myself in the sensation of his cock stroking me inside out and his groans and grunts. He wants me.


	20. MEHHHH

ok since tumblr and Ao3 aren’t super connected and i don’t want to piss anyone off—

i love this story but i kind of want to go back and add more creepy moments between rey/ben, so i was thinking of removing the last 6 or so chapters and picking up from there. ultimately, the story will go the same direction.

but i wanted to ask because you guys are heavily invested at this point and it’s not fair for me to suddenly delete half the chapters.


	21. and the beat goes on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so, this was a personal story from the start, and i completely appreciate and love your responses, but i decided to end the story here. i absolutely want to do another story with a similar premise of grooming, but i didn't want to delete and erase the work done here. thank you all so much for your comments and love and feedback <3

All of a sudden, I’m a victim.

I don’t feel like one. It upsets me, the way cops ask questions and therapists furrow their eyebrows. They feel bad for me. They think I didn’t want it—didn’t want him—because he’s an older man and I’m a younger woman.

Woman. I’m not a girl anymore.

An officer sighs. “Poor girl.”

 “You wouldn’t be saying that if the roles reversed!” I snap. “If I was a boy and he was a woman—you’d say he’s _lucky_!”

They feel bad for me and it’s the last thing I want. I want Ben back, but they’ve taken him away.

It’s how I meet his mom: a short, powerful woman with sharp eyes. She defends Ben in court and gets his sentence reduced. He even has the possibility for parole. She’s a damn good lawyer.

Leia sizes me up outside the court room. She glares, like she blames me, then her lower lip quivers and she hugs me. I hug her back and cry into her shoulder. I want him back so badly.

—————

 “I had to tell them, Rey. You’re a kid.”

My hands tremble. Rose is trying to talk to me on my porch, since I’ve been pulled from school. It’s the first time we’ve seen each other since she did the unthinkable. Ruined my life.

I hate her. I rub my eyes and bite back tears.

 “He’s going to jail,” I mumble. “Three years.”

 “Yeah.” Rose leans back and stares off at the sunset. “He’ll be out when you’re eighteen. Good for him, I guess.”

 “Age is just a number.”

Rose shrugs. “Easy to say when you’re the bigger number.”

—————

…Loneliness yawns open again.

The last time I see Ben is before the trial, since the lawyers agreed to not make me testify. He looks sad but tries to smile for me. He won’t be gone long, but I’ll miss him like crazy.

I lie in bed and stare at the ceiling most nights. Depressed again. No weed, no booze, no sex. I miss him whispering in my ear.

I’m a victim, but I don’t feel like one. I feel sad. No one picks up the slack he’s left behind. I’m mad that Rose ratted us out and now all the boys in school think I’m a slut. I’m not cool. A guy fucking a teacher is cool. A girl fucking a teacher is a whore. I’m ruined.

So I lay around inside and cry and hope the three years pass by fast. They say Ben raped me. They say I couldn’t consent. I never agree with the therapists or the cops because I shouldn’t have to.

Leia has me homeschooled until I graduate. She’s a sweet lady but she doesn’t take shit. She starts making me get up and get dressed and go outside. She brings me to visit Ben twice a week and he and I usually cry and plan what we’ll do when he gets out. I don’t care. I just want him back.

Now I’m lying in bed at home, a couple months after the news broke, and I’m all alone. But I’ve always been alone—until I met Ben.

I sigh and close my eyes, resting a hand on my swelling belly. Our baby twists and presses her palm to mine, my soft reminder of how much her father loves me. He does. I know he does.

 “I’m okay,” I mumble. “We’re okay, honey.”


End file.
